


Vir Adahlen

by Sashimae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A seriously excessive amount of fluff, Dangerous ideas are dangerous, Detailed Childbirth, Dorian and Bull are best Uncles, F/F, Family, Fluff, Happy JAM, I did another thing, Oh look a baby, Pregnancy, Tiny things are cute things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 98,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashimae/pseuds/Sashimae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Forest: together we are stronger than the one.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ellana Lavellan has always wanted a family. </p><p>Set Post-Corypheus.</p><p>(Previously titled: "A Family With You")</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thoughts of Family

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've decided that ideas are very dangerous. You can thank this post on the web for being the catalyst for this fic - I just couldn't not, once the idea took root. http://distractify.com/pinar/pregnant-roys/  
> It even distracted me from the other fic I'm working on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, long held wishes are the hardest to voice.

Ellana Lavellan sighs contentedly, leaning against the tree trunk behind her as she enjoys the light breeze ruffling the branches above her head. Josephine is sitting next to her, working diligently at some piece of paperwork that she insisted couldn’t wait until later. It is a warm day, and everyone in Skyhold seems to be taking some time to enjoy the pleasant weather. There are faint shouts and giggles from further in the garden, and the echoing clack of wood against wood. A group of children run by the two women; Josephine looks up to wave as they call hello, and Ellana sends them a friendly grin. She watches as they scamper off, two boys stick-fighting with vigor as the others play an impromptu game of tag. They seem so carefree.

It has been months since they finally vanquished Corypheus, months since they had started setting the world back to rights. The Inquisitor is still called out sometimes to close the occasional rift, or deal with some remaining Venatori or Red Templars, but the summons have begun to wane. Ellana has more time to spend at Skyhold now with her beloved, and with that time comes thoughts of the future that she had not dared to have before. She watches the children laugh and play, and a yearning long forgotten and buried stirs in her chest.

Ellana reaches over and takes Josephine’s free hand, which has been resting on the grass between them, in her own, hearing the diplomat’s quill stopping its scratching for a moment before Josephine resumes her work. The elf is content to sit quietly, looking down at her hands and playing with Josephine’s fingers in her lap as her thoughts wander, contemplating.

After a minute Josephine puts down her quill and sets aside her clipboard on the grass next to them, turning to face her lover’s profile. “You are quite distracting, my darling.” There is no heat in Josephine’s words, only light amusement, as she tugs at her captured hand. Ellana does not relinquish her hostage, instead idly running her fingers along the back of Josephine’s hand and over her palm; she is still looking down, mostly lost in thought. Josephine’s writing hand comes up to cup Ellana’s cheek, causing the elf to start and look up at the other woman’s solemn expression. “Ellana, what are you thinking?”

The Inquisitor meets Josephine’s gaze, bringing her thoughts back to the here and now. She sees warm concern in her beloved’s eyes, feels it as Josephine’s thumb strokes over her cheek. “Josie…” she knows what she wishes to ask, but isn’t sure she wants to. Isn’t sure what Josephine’s reaction will be. “What do you…have you ever thought about kids?”

There is a pause as her words hang in the air between them, as Josephine’s thumb stops its movement and her heart catches – but then the diplomat sighs and her eyes close for a moment as she resumes her soothing motion. “My love, this is a topic for another time. When we can discuss it fully.” Ellana feels the tension in her shoulders ebb at the words, even though she doesn’t quite understand what Josephine means. But it hasn’t been dismissed out of hand, and that is encouraging. So she nods, looking back out over the garden as Josephine gives her hand a squeeze before returning to her work, the scratching of her quill fading into the sounds of the day once more as childish laughter rings throughout the garden.

* * *

The fire is crackling in the hearth as Ellana and Josephine sit on the couch in front of the flames, the golden light the main source of illumination in the Inquisitor’s large room. Ellana has been mostly silent since the garden that afternoon, turning words and phrases over in her head as she tries to organize her thoughts. Josephine seems content to wait, hands folded in her lap as she watches the flames dance.

The elf finally breaks the comfortable silence, voice thoughtful. “Josie, those children in the garden earlier. What did you think of them?”

Josephine looks over at her love, an eyebrow raised in question, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You shall have to be more specific, Ellana.”

“I mean, what do you think about children? Would you…maybe want to have one of your own? Of our own?” A slight flush rises in her cheeks as she voices her thoughts, but Ellana holds Josephine’s gaze with her own. They had talked about life together, after Corypheus, but with his defeat being less than a year ago, they were still getting used to not having the possible end of the world taking over their lives. They were still getting used to just _living_. But now that her long held wish has been rekindled… “I would like to have a family with you. If you want to, ma’arlath. I…” Ellana pauses, unsure if she should go on, but Josephine takes her hands and squeezes them in encouragement, so she musters her courage. “I used to dream about having children, when I was younger. About feeling life quicken and move inside me.” She breaks eye-contact, looking down as her blush climbs to her ears. “But I know that with two women…”

Ellana’s hands are released, then there are cool palms on either side of her burning cheeks, raising her face to meet Josephine’s once more. In Josephine’s eyes she sees _understanding_ , that same desire to feel a new life growing inside her, and Ellana swallows hard, one hand coming up to clasp Josephine’s against her cheek. “My darling, two women are perfectly capable of having a family; that will never be an issue for us. I am the Montilyet heir; it is practically expected of me to have a child, and a family.” Josephine draws back, hands leaving Ellana’s face to twist together in her lap. “But I do not wish to see any of our children forced to take on that role if they are not inclined, or excluded from it, if we are to both carry.” Ellana’s lips part in surprise – at how similar their desires are, at how well Josephine understands her thoughts – and her heart falls for the Antivan all over again. “I do not wish to see any child of ours forbidden their birthright because they do not have the Montilyet bloodline.”

Now it is Ellana’s turn to frame Josephine’s face, her fingers stroking the fine hairs at her temples. “I have a thought on that, if you are amenable.” She waits for Josephine’s nod to continue. “I don’t know all that much about Antivan culture, but...perhaps one of your brothers could, um…donate. When it’s time for me to carry.” Josephine turns uncharacteristically red and isn’t quite able to meet Ellana’s eyes, but nods her agreement. “And perhaps you should be first. Just in case of…complications.” She can see Josephine turning the decision over in her head, examining it from every angle for catches or flaws. “Besides, the world isn’t quite clean yet. I can’t be pregnant and closing rifts at the same time. Can you imagine how that would look?”

The thought startles a small chuckle from Josephine, and she reaches up to gently disengage Ellana’s hands from her face. “I would like that, my darling. But you know this will take time to arrange. As much as I would like to, we cannot simply start a family now. We will need new living quarters with more room, contingency plans for the Inquisition should something go wrong…”

She is cut off by Ellana’s laugh, light as bells, and Josephine looks at her lover curiously. “I wasn’t expecting to start right now, Josie.” She wraps one arm around the Antivan’s waist, drawing her close and resting her head on Josephine’s shoulder. “The children today just reminded me of how much I would love to have a family with you. I don’t think anything could make me happier.”

Tapered fingers come up to stroke through her hair, let loose from its ponytail for the night. “You realize we shall have to inform my parents of our plans, yes?”

Ellana tenses. “Are you sure? What if they don’t approve?” Her voice is small, uncertain. She has yet to meet Josephine’s parents, has no idea what they think of a female elf as a match for their daughter. Yes, Josephine has told her that her parents think quite highly of her, but that doesn’t mean they want the two women starting a _family._

“It does not matter if they approve or not.” Josephine’s voice is firm, her pace soothing as she smoothes her hand over Ellana’s tresses. “It is our life, and will be our family. We _will_ have this.” She pauses, fingers running gently along the edge of Ellana’s ear as she considers. “Although I doubt they will disapprove. Mama has been hinting at her desire for grandchildren for years.”

Ellana shivers, goosebumps running up her back, at the brush of fingers over the tip of her ear. “If you say so.”

“What of your Clan? Will you want to inform them?”

“I…don’t know.” The words are slow, hesitant. “They will not be pleased with me.”

“Whyever not?” The hand on her head stills, and Ellana raises her head to meet Josephine’s dark eyes.

“There aren’t any half-elven, you know.” Josephine’s confusion is still apparent. Ellana sighs. “When a human and an elf have a child, the offspring is completely human. There is no such thing as a ‘half-elf’. It’s why the Elvhen are not encouraged to have relationships with humans, besides the normal stigma.”

“Ah.” After a moment, Josephine draws Ellana’s head back down to her shoulder, carding her fingers through coarse strands of hair once more. There is quiet for a few minutes, Josephine’s touch soothing Ellana into a half-doze. “Ellana?”

“Mm?” Her eyes flutter open just enough to see Josephine’s profile.

“What would you say to perhaps beginning in the next few months?”

“Beginning…?” Her mind is slightly fogged and it takes a second to understand but when she does, excitement courses through her body, dispelling her fatigue. “Are you sure? Josephine?”

“We would have to make some arrangements yes, but…” Her words are cut off against Ellana’s mouth as the elf kisses her soundly, lips and tongue conveying happiness, gratitude, and elation. They separate after a minute, both panting for breath, Josephine’s face slightly flushed. “Goodness. Had I known you would be this enthusiastic…” She blushes a shade darker, although her Antivan complexion hides most of it. “Well. If we are to do this, you shall have to aid me in finding a trainee for the Ambassador position. I am under no illusion that I will be able to keep up with the work in the later months. And we must ask Gatsi to renovate a suite for us. We will need more room than either of our chambers currently provides.” She takes one of Ellana’s hands, idly tracing the callouses on the elf’s palm. “Perhaps you could also begin instructing your Inner Circle in working without your guidance? So that you may be here more often?” Josephine draws her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying at the skin as she looks Ellana uncertainly.

“Of course I will. I would rather be here with you than out in the field anyways.” Ellana leans forward and places a light kiss at the corner of Josephine’s mouth, just enough to reassure. “That will never change.” Then the elf draws back, eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurs. “Josephine?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Who will be the father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a teaser chapter, the others will have more. I just wanted to get this one out while it was still April, for JAM. =) *Okay it says May 1st on the site, but it's still April MY TIME. That's what matters!*


	2. Logistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you can't start a family without a 'donation'.

It had taken some discussion, but the two of them finally decided on the father of their first child – if he was amenable of course. Neither wished for a stranger to be the donor, which limited their list of potential candidates immensely. Cullen was out, as was the Iron Bull for obvious reasons. Solas and Blackwall were both long gone, and Josephine didn’t know anyone from her days in Antiva and Orlais that she would consider asking. So that left…

“Why do I have to be the one to ask Dorian?” Ellana whines, looking up at her lover with the saddest puppy dog eyes she can muster. Her head is resting in Josephine’s lap as they sit on the couch in the Inquisitor’s room once more as Josephine’s fingers rub gentle circles against her scalp. Her maneuver is slightly ruined by the soft sigh of pleasure that escapes her lips.  

Josephine is unmoved, simply meeting Ellana’s pleading eyes with her own level gaze. “Because he is a member of your Inner Circle, you know him better than I, and,” she pauses to emphasize this last point with a tug on Ellana’s hair, “you are his best friend.”

There is nothing to say in the face of such logic, and Ellana gives in with a pout. It’s not that she doesn’t want to ask Dorian, it’s just that…well, it will be _awkward_. What is she supposed to say? ‘Hey Dorian, we want your sperm so we can make a baby’?

Josephine’s hand suddenly leaves her hair as a muffled laugh shakes the Antivan’s shoulders, and Ellana realizes she must have voiced her thoughts aloud. Oops. “No, my darling,” Josephine manages to get out between giggles, “I don’t believe that is the way to go about it.” A few more laughs escape before Josephine manages to get herself under control once more. “Perhaps you should lead into it.”

“Hmph.” Ellana crosses her arms and turns her head away from Josephine – though she doesn’t move from the other woman’s lap. A pair of soft lips brush over the sensitive skin at the point of her jaw as loose hair tickles her neck, and she relents. “Okay, I’ll talk with him next week.”

“Why a week?” Josephine’s lips move up to kiss her temple, hair dragging behind, and Ellana suppresses a shiver.

“Just in case he does something utterly stupid and we change our minds.”

* * *

Dorian manages to behave himself for the next week, so after a full seven days Ellana steels herself to speak with her friend. The mage is reading in his favorite nook in the library, some dry book on old Tevinter families that the elf really doesn’t want to understand. She clears her throat when he doesn’t look up, is met with a raised finger for silence and sticks out her tongue in response, not caring how childish the gesture is. The finger stays up for another minute as Dorian continues to read, lips moving as his eyes scan the page, until he finally flips the book closed with a sigh. “Yes, Inquisitor? To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

His tone is acerbic but there is a pleased smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, barely hidden by his moustache, so Ellana just grins in response. “I just wanted to drop in and see how my favorite mage is doing.”

Dorian scoffs. “Please. I’m your _only_ mage now. Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Ellana.”

The elf rolls her eyes at the reminder. “Fine then. I really do want to talk with you though.” After the defeat of Corypheus, and his decision to stay at Skyhold, Ellana had finally made him get another chair in his treasured alcove. She takes a seat across from the mage, clasping her hands and resting her elbows on her knees as she meets Dorian’s gaze squarely. “Promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“Think about what?” She has piqued the mage’s interest, she can tell by the bright spark that enters his eyes. “Are we going to finally get Sera back for that waterbomb? Because it took me _days_ to –”

Ellana interrupts him before he can start on another rant. “No, it’s more serious than pranks. Promise me, Dorian.”

Dorian leans back in his chair, waves a hand at her. “Fine, fine, I promise. Now what is it?”

“Josie and I are thinking about starting a family.” She says it quickly, the words tumbling out on one exhalation. “And –”

“ _Really_?” There is no censure in his tone, only curiosity. “I thought our dear Ambassador would wish to wait a bit longer, honestly.” Dorian pauses, waiting for some answer from the Inquisitor but Ellana only averts her eyes, so after a moment he continues. “May I ask why you’re telling me this now?”

“The fact that you’re my friend isn’t enough?” She is met with a pointed stare. “Okay. We were, um, wondering if maybe you could be the father of our first child….” Her voice trails off as Dorian cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement.

“Ellana, you _are_ aware that I prefer men, yes? I seem to remember you defending me to my father, after all.” The mage pushes out of his chair and begins to pace. “Preferences aside, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with having…sexual relations with well, _either_ of you. No offense meant, of course, but no.” A shudder courses through his body.

Ellana is torn between laughter and mortification as she watches the mage wave his hands in the air for emphasis. Mortification wins and a blush begins to creep up her neck as she catches a fold of Dorian’s trousers and tugs to get his attention. “You wouldn’t have to.” Her mouth twists into a brief grimace at the thought, and she gives a shudder of her own before pushing the unfortunate mental image aside. “There’s this… _method_ that they use in Orlais, for situations like ours…”  Josephine had told her about it, that first night when they talked, and Ellana had been beyond grateful that she wouldn’t have to sleep with her beloved’s brother. Not that she _wouldn’t_ , but it would be absurdly awkward for all involved. “So we just need your sperm.”

It is Dorian’s turn to blush as he stares at her, hands falling to dangle limply at his sides. “Oh.” It’s interesting to hear the usually verbose man reduced to a single syllable word. “Well, then. I…” Dorian blinks, and blinks again. “Do you mind if I discuss this with Bull?”

Ellana relaxes her fingers where they had unconsciously tightened in the hem of her shirt. “No. No, we rather expected that, actually.” He hadn’t said ‘no’, which was encouraging, because he was really the only person they even considered of asking. It wasn’t as though they had a plethora of potential sperm donors – well, potential sperm donors that they actually _knew_.

“Right, then.” Dorian rather looks like he’s been blindsided with a pillow. “I’ll um…go talk with Bull now.” He turns and exits the library in a bit of a daze, leaving Ellana behind to collapse further into her chair with a groan.

“He’s your _friend_ , Ellana. It’ll be _easy_ to ask him.” A hand comes up to run over her face. “Easy, my ass.”

* * *

The next day, Ellana is walking the battlements when she hears Dorian call out her name. The mage makes quick work of the stairs up to where she waits for him, and arrives slightly out of breath and grinning like a madman.

“I talked with Bull,” he starts with no preamble, grabbing Ellana’s arm and dragging her away from the sentry not far from their position, “and he agreed. Rather excitedly, I might add. Kept going on about ‘finally being an uncle’. Although I do wish to ask, before agreeing completely: what would my involvement with the child be?” The grin fades into a serious mien as Dorian asks, all levity at his partner’s response falling away.

It’s a good thing she and Josephine had discussed this as well. “Whatever you want it to be, Dorian. Although…” she fidgets uncomfortably, because as much as she loves her friend, this is to be _their_ kid, “although we would prefer that you not be known as ‘Father’. If they ask, then you can tell them, but…”

“No, no, I understand.” Dorian’s expression is one of relief, and Ellana releases a breath. “I’d rather be the uncle who spoils the child rotten anyways.” That grin makes an appearance once more as the mage reaches into a pouch. “I believe you asked?”

Ellana stares at the corked vial Dorian holds out towards her. “What…?” She reaches out hesitantly, wraps her hand around the vial, then releases it as though burned. “It’s _warm_!”

“Well, I had to keep it alive somehow, didn’t I?”

The elf stares at the vial, her expression morphing into nausea. With a shudder, she violently scrubs her palm against her leggings. _Ew!_ “We weren’t going to…” her voice is weak and she has to clear her throat. “Dorian, we weren’t going to try for at _least_ another month.”

“Well, it’ll keep!” The mage waves the bottle at her invitingly, and Ellana flinches away.

“Dorian, _no_.”

* * *

Josephine climbs the steps to the Rookery a little slower than she would normally. It isn’t that she’s afraid of telling her friend their decision, but her heart is still beating a bit faster at the thought. Still, it is only a minute before she crests the stairs, seeing Leliana in her normal position leaning over a report at her desk. The Spymaster looks up at her, gives a quick smile, and returns to writing instructions. Josephine is content to wait, knowing that Leliana will be finished soon enough.

She distracts herself by cooing at the ravens in their cages, although she knows better than to try and stroke them. She likes her fingers unscarred, thank you very much. Finally Leliana puts the finishing touches on her instructions and comes over to release the raven Josephine is currently admiring. The bird sits on Leliana’s heavy glove for a moment as she fastens the small scroll to its leg, then takes off when the Spymaster bounces her arm.

“It is good to see you, Josie.” Leliana turns to her friend with a smile, one that actually touches her eyes now, ever since Valence. “You don’t often come up here.” It’s true. Usually if Josephine needs to see Leliana, she sends a runner to find the Spymaster. But occasionally – more often, now that they don’t have daily meetings at the War Table – she will take a brief break from her work to visit her friend.

“Can’t a lady call upon her good friend?” Josephine teases in response, and is rewarded with a laugh in return.

Of course, the humor in Leliana’s eyes is quickly followed by a knowing look. “Is there something you wished to tell me, perhaps?” There is no way – well, _almost_ no way, unless her friend resorted to spying on them – that Leliana knows about their plans, but she is too perceptive not to be aware that _something_ is happening.

Josephine moves over to the upturned crates that serve at chairs in the Rookery, taking a seat and tugging Leliana down next to her when the other woman makes no move to sit. “Ellana and I have been talking, and we have decided something,” Josephine starts, eyes fixed on Leliana’s face. The redhead had been a bard and spy for most of her life and is a master at hiding her expressions, but she usually lets them show around the diplomat. A slightly raised eyebrow communicates Leliana’s interest, the tiny quirk of her lips indicates that she has some idea of the topic. Josephine presses on. “We have decided to start a family. Within the next few months, ideally.”

That quirk blooms into a slow smile as true joy shines through Leliana’s normal façade. “Josie, that’s wonderful!” Hands in thick leather gloves grab Josephine’s own and squeeze tightly. “Have you decided what you shall do?”

“Well, since the Montilyet line must continue, I shall carry our firstborn.” The word ‘firstborn’ feels odd on her lips, even though she has heard it applied to herself often throughout her life. But now, it will be _her_ – _their_ – firstborn, their first child.

“Oh? And that is the only reason, hm?” Leliana knows her too well, knows her dreams from her younger years, and gives her a knowing smirk.

Josephine frees her hand and gives Leliana’s shoulder a shove in response. “Oh, you. No, it isn’t the only reason. And we shan’t be stopping there. Ellana wishes to carry as well.” Her eyes soften as she remembers her beloved’s _joy_ at realizing that they want the same thing, that her dreams are more than possible – they will come true.

Rough leather brushes her skin as Leliana cups her cheek in one hand. The smirk has faded into a soft smile that so few ever get to see. “I am glad for you, Josie. So very glad that you have found your happiness.” The sentiment is punctuated with another squeeze of the hand Leliana still holds, and Josephine smiles in response. Hearing those words from her friend makes her heart sing with delight.

“If we are to go through with this, we will need your help,” she tells Leliana, enjoying the raised eyebrows her comment earns. “I have no doubt that keeping up with the myriad tasks of my position will become more difficult as time passes, so I will need an aide. Since you were the one who found _me_ , surely you will be able to find someone as equally suited?” She sends the Spymaster a mock-glare. “Although without such a detailed test, I think.”

Leliana gives a chuckle at that reminder, but isn’t remotely apologetic. “It worked, did it not?”

“ _Leliana_ …”

“Very well. But you are taking away my fun, you know.” She gives Josephine’s hand one more squeeze as she stands, bends down to place a light kiss on Josephine’s forehead. “If you need anything else, you have only to ask.”

Josephine looks up at her friend, one of her few _true_ friends. “I know.”

* * *

_Daughter,_

_We are delighted to hear that you are well. Yvette has recently taken an interest in the management of the gardens, and I believe we have your Ellana to thank for that. Your brothers have been attending their studies – this newest tutor you found has managed to hold their attentions, for the most part. Your father, of course, has spent most of his time painting, but assures me that he has a taking for this most recent attempt. We shall see._

_As to your other news – we wish you both the best. I have no doubt that you will be splendid parents. I shall see about arranging some visitation for the next year; we would love to see you, and to finally meet Ellana._

_Stay well, my daughter. Your father and siblings send their love,_

_Your mother_

* * *

A month and a half after she had first asked Dorian, Ellana finds herself standing in front of the mage once more, trying to _not_ think of the exact logistics of what she is asking. “...so if you could, um, supply us,” she winces, squeezing her eyes shut at the phrase as she finishes her request, “in the next few days, we would be grateful.”

Dorian’s eyes are alight with glee and he claps his hands. “Certainly! Oh, imagine how good-looking this child will be, with my genes. Why, no one will be able to deny them…”

Ellana leaves the mage to his imaginings, shaking her head.

She shakes her head again, a few hours later, when the mage seeks her out with yet another vial in his hand. Trust Dorian to… _facilitate_ the process. She takes the vial gingerly; this time she has made sure to have a piece of cloth on hand to wrap around the thing. _No way_ was she touching it with her bare skin.

That night, in their quarters, Ellana shows the vial to Josephine, scrunching up her nose at the thought of opening it. “Are you sure this is how to do it?”

Josephine is holding a strange apparatus, one she had procured from Orlais, and Ellana looks at it askance. “Yes, my darling, I’m sure. You shall simply have to focus on the results, and not the process.” Seeing the disgusted shudder that runs through the elf’s body, Josephine can’t suppress a chuckle. “Surely it’s no worse than the gore of battle?”

“That’s different! That’s not from someone I _know_.” But Ellana grits her teeth and opens the vial, suppressing yet another grimace as she transfers its contents. “Ugh.”

When the process is complete, and the apparatus capped, she is rewarded with a kiss. “Take heart, my darling. It isn’t all bad.” Josephine catches Ellana’s hand and draws her over to the bed, taking the apparatus from her and putting it on the bedside table. “The rest of tonight shall be very enjoyable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wasn't going to use Dorian because, hey, Tevinter, mage, etc....but I couldn't think of anyone else I would like to use, and he and Bull as doting uncles is just too good to pass up! And artistic license right?


	3. Month One: Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One doesn't simply find an aide overnight.

**Month One**

There is a piece of parchment lying on the desk, a list of names innocently scrawled across the surface. Some are crossed out, others are circled, and as Ellana watches, Josephine draws a line through yet another name.

“What was wrong with that one?” Leliana asks curiously. Her arms are crossed as she leans one hip against the desk nonchalantly. Her part of the hunt for an ambassadorial aide is mostly done, but the Spymaster has made no move to leave their discussion; instead, she seems eager to press Josephine for details as to her choices.

“He had an affair with a married noblewoman in his younger years, and the husband holds a grudge to this day. I have no desire to alienate the du Franques,” Josephine replies as she considers the last few names. Ellana watches as the diplomat taps the end of the quill against her chin thoughtfully before putting down the writing instrument. “I believe the others are all suitable, as well as capable. What is our next step?”

“It would not do to accept an aide without our Ambassador meeting them personally, no?” Leliana’s smile is wicked. “We shall inform these four people of their candidacy and, should they choose to accept, escort them to Skyhold.”

The Antivan rolls her eyes. “You just want the chance to terrorize them.”

Ellana has to stifle a giggle at the Spymaster’s unrepentant expression as Leliana shrugs. “Well, they will have to learn at some point. If they cannot handle the members of the Inquisition, however would we expect them to deal with the nobility?”

“The nobility follow far more customary social etiquette than the members of the Inquisition,” Josephine mutters, just loud enough for Ellana to hear and smother another laugh, but she cedes the point with a nod. “And should they accept? Who shall escort them?”

“I will,” Ellana answers before Leliana can. A wide smirk spreads over her lips as both women look at her in surprise. “It’ll be fun.”

Josephine’s eyebrows knit as she looks at her lover. “Ellana, you don’t have to do this. I know you still have duties in the Emprise.”

The elf waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing that Cassandra, Dorian, Bull, and Varric can’t handle. This is something that will affect the running of the Inquisition for a long time. Why shouldn’t the Inquisitor be involved?”

“Still, surely it is –”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Leliana interrupts her friend. “The prestige of such a visit will have the nobility talking for weeks, and I trust Ellana’s judgement of a person’s true interests.” She inclines her head towards the Inquisitor, who grins in response. It’s nice to have her abilities acknowledged. “Although we should not inform them of the Inquisitor’s coming. Better they believe they shall be accompanied by a common escort.” Ellana nods her agreement.

Faced with two stubborn opponents, Josephine sighs and gives in. “Very well. It will be a few days at least before any responses arrive. I shall use the time to design a suitable interview.”

* * *

The first candidate to respond back is a noblewoman from Halamshiral, and Ellana sets out a week after their first meeting to fetch the lady. The ride to the capital is smooth and uneventful; she is accompanied by eight of Cullen’s soldiers, also all on mounts, and the weather is clear and sunny for most of the trip. At night, they stay at small towns along the road and Ellana tries to be as inconspicuous as possible so as to not be recognized as the Inquisitor. She doesn’t want a fuss.

The estate they arrive at on the outskirts of Halamshiral is surrounded by a high stone wall, a large wrought iron gate standing ajar at the end of a patterned tile walkway. Ellana’s mouth twists in distaste as she dismounts her horse and hands the reins to a soldier; she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the ostentatious display of wealth that Orlesian nobles tend to favor.

A woman sails out of the mansion as Ellana walks up the tiled path, a delighted smile visible under her half-mask. “Inquisitor! I did not expect such a _distinguished_ escort!” Her hands flutter in the air between them, elbows out in the Orlesian court fashion. “May I offer you refreshments perhaps? I am _quite_ excited to be joining the Inquisition.”

Ellana has to suppress a grimace at the woman’s voice – it is high, grating, and… _familiar_. Where has she heard it before?

“Our cook has made a wonderful rabbit stew, would –”

 _Oh._ Ellana pastes on a friendly smile, turning to the chattering noblewoman. “I’ve heard highly of your diplomatic abilities,” a blatant lie, but one Josephine coached her in should she need to turn down any of their choices, “but I’m afraid you may not fit the Inquisition after all.” The woman’s hands suddenly still, her mouth dropping open as all talk suddenly ceases. The elf makes a courtly bow. “After all, it is led by a _rabbit_.”

She takes her leave of the estate, snagging the reins of her mount from the soldier as she passes. “We’re going back to Skyhold without her.”

* * *

The clip-clop of their horses’ hooves echoes in the stone gateway as they return to Skyhold, Ellana leading the soldiers. She hadn’t bothered to send a message ahead, since she had rejected their candidate; no fanfare and escort would be needed upon their arrival. Nonetheless, at least one person is waiting for her in the lower courtyard as the elf swings off her mount, tired and irate.

“Ah, Inquisitor!” Dorian falls into step with her as Ellana starts walking her mount towards the stables. “How was your trip?” The growl that rumbles in Ellana’s throat is apparently rather audible, for Dorian takes a step back and raises his hands into the air. “Okay, relax. I won’t ask.”

After scowling for a moment, Ellana decides to elaborate a bit. “They better have another candidate,” she grouses, picking up a brush and beginning to groom her mount. The repetitive motion soothes her slightly, and she lets her anger slip away with the smooth strokes. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”

The mage shrugs, leaning against the entrance to the wooden stall. “I don’t go out of my way to talk with our dear Spymaster.” Then his expression brightens. “So, do you know if your paramour is pregnant yet? Do you know if it will be a boy or a girl? What will you name the child? How will –” He is cut off by the boar-bristle brush flying at his face; the wooden handle glances off his cheekbone and the mage yelps. “Ow!” One hand comes up to cover the bruise as he glares at the Inquisitor, who glares right back. “What was that for?”

“Dorian. I’ve been back for _ten minutes_. I haven’t seen Josephine in over a _week_ , and you’re asking me this _now_?” Her words are slow and heavy with sarcasm, as though talking to a disobedient child. “ _Really?_ And this isn’t even considering that it will take another few weeks until we even know!”

The mage pouts, his hand moving away from his cheek after a moment to reveal flawless skin once more. “Well you don’t have to be touchy about it. I just wanted to know.”

Ellana closes her eyes and prays for patience. “When we _do_ know, we will be sure to tell you. Now go bother Bull or something.”

Dorian leaves in a huff, and Ellana retrieves the brush after a moment. As much as she wants to see Josephine, Dennet would have her strung up by her intestines if she neglected her mount. It takes a few more minutes to see the mare comfortably settled, then she is free to head straight to Josephine’s office.

Her beloved is sitting at her desk when Ellana walks in, poring over a stack of parchment on the desk, though she looks up at the noise of the wooden door shutting. “Ellana, you’re back!” Josephine’s brows knit in confusion as she takes in the lack of another person behind the Inquisitor. “What happened to our candidate?”

Ellana crosses the room to the diplomat’s command center, bending down to give Josephine a kiss before she hops up onto the desk. “I remembered her from the Winter Palace. She called me a rabbit.” Her mouth twists again as she remembers, a surge of annoyance rushing through her chest. It really shouldn’t affect her this much, but…

“Oh, Ellana.” The Antivan stands, wrapping her arms loosely around Ellana’s waist and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Then she would not have suited the Inquisition. Don’t fret, love. Leliana received two more responses while you were gone.”

“Mm.” It’s a struggle to keep her eyes open as the travel weariness threatens to swamp her. “Come to bed? I sleep better with you beside me.”

“Ellana, it’s only midafternoon! I still have treaties to review, letters to –” Josephine’s litany is cut off by an unexpected yawn, one brown hand coming up to cover her mouth as her eyes widen in surprise, and Ellana can’t suppress a giggle at her lover’s expression.

“It seems you’re in need of a nap as well.” The elf slides off the desk, grasping the hand that is still resting at her waist and interlacing their fingers. “Just for an hour, I promise.”

Josephine relents as she stifles another yawn against her hand. “Very well. But only if napping is _all_ you intend to do.”

Ellana adopts a wounded expression. “Josie, I’m hurt that you would think so poorly of me.” The façade works only until Josephine levels a blank stare at her, and she has to grin. “I’m too tired for anything else. Besides, I don’t want to mess up our…project.” Now it is her turn to yawn. “Let’s go before I fall asleep on my feet.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to go by trimesters, but then when month two ended up being 2k words and not done yet...well, I think month by month is how this will end up going, at least for now.


	4. Month Two: Excitement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always nice to have confirmation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the outline for this chapter was 181 words. Um...whoops my fingers slipped and words came out?

**Month Two**

“Ellana!” The Inquisitor is roused by someone shaking her shoulder gently. She turns over with a groggy groan, eyes cracking open just enough to see the person disturbing her sleep. A bronze face framed by dark hair meets her gaze, far too awake for the hour of predawn.

“J’sie? Whazzit?” She blinks, trying to rid her eyes of the crustiness of sleep as her vision adjusts to the dim room.

“'Lana, my courses are late!” Josephine’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but the elf can practically feel the excitement vibrating in her words.

Her sleep-fogged brain has to struggle for a moment before the sentence registers and she sits upright, suddenly much more awake. “Are you sure? Could they start later today?”

Josephine is kneeling on top of the blankets next to her, still clad in her sleepwear; she must have already gotten out of bed once to check. Ellana reaches for her, encircling the Antivan’s waist with one arm and drawing her beloved close. Josephine nestles into the embrace, although Ellana can feel the energy still thrumming through her body. “I’m sure. They are never late, and should have begun yesterday. I thought I should wait until today to be positive, but they still haven’t come.”

Now Ellana is picking up her lover’s excitement, although she tries to temper it with a dose of pragmatism. It wouldn’t do to get their hopes up too far only to have them dashed. “Can a healer confirm a pregnancy this early? It’s only been four weeks.”

“I don’t know. But we can ask in the morning.” Josephine shivers in the cool air and wiggles out of Ellana’s arms just long enough to curl back under the blankets before returning to her body heat. “I doubt even the nicest healer would take kindly to being woken up this early.”

“Mm,” Ellana agrees as she hugs Josephine closer. She feels the other woman’s body mold along her side as their legs entangle, and one hand comes up to stroke her love’s hair in a rhythm that calms them both. Although she doubts either of them will be able to fall back asleep.

They are only able to restrain their excitement until the second bell of the morning. Josephine has been dressed since the dawn bell, since her outfits are much more intricate than the Inquisitor’s; Ellana tries to delay their departure by taking her own time getting ready, but she is only partially successful. The reverberations of the peals have barely faded as they leave their suite of rooms hand in hand, Ellana in the lead.

The halls of Skyhold are mostly empty during the early hours, only a few servants up and about while the Inquisition’s noble guests remain abed. The trickle of people stops when they reach the outside courtyard; mornings in the mountains are  _cold_  until the sun is risen enough to warm the air, so the outside is empty of human presence – save one. The Lady Seeker is doing her morning calisthenics by her training dummies, and she gives the couple a curt nod as they pass by. Ellana has to grin – Cassandra, at least, hasn’t changed since the defeat of Corypheus. She is still abrupt as ever.

The healer for Skyhold is based out of a building next to their requisitions officer – which makes sense, when she stops to think about it, and only increases her appreciation of Josephine’s planning abilities – and the door is slightly ajar. She looks up when Ellana pushes open the door, Josephine following a step behind, and it is a testament to how often the Inquisitor had required her services that Aeryn immediately gives Ellana a once over. “Inquisitor, what can I do for you this early morning? You don’t seem injured.”

Ellana’s free hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck in embarrassment as Josephine giggles next to her. “Actually, that’s not why we came. We were wondering if you have any method of determining if a woman is pregnant…before she starts showing, that is.”

The healer purses her lips for a moment, eyeing the two women. “Are you asking for someone else or…?” she trails off, waiting for one of them to fill in the blanks.

It is common knowledge that they are a devoted couple, so the inquiry isn’t completely unexpected. But if she thought asking Dorian for his aid with this endeavor was difficult, Ellana has completely underestimated how discomforted she feels at the moment. “Ah…”

Josephine – wonderful, eloquent, Josephine – comes to her rescue. “For myself, Aeryn.” The two women have been on first name terms ever since bonding over her mostly unconscious form – multiple times. “We are hoping to confirm if I am with child.” She meets the healer’s eyes and some unspoken conversation must pass between them, for Aeryn nods after a moment.

“Such a potion does exist. However, I shall have to make up a fresh batch; it isn’t exactly something I keep on hand. It will be a day before it is ready.”

“We understand,” Josephine replies smoothly, cutting off Ellana’s protestation with a squeeze of her hand when the elf opens her mouth. “Please, let us know if there is anything you need.” She tows her lover out of the room by the hand, and Ellana lets her.

“I don’t want to wait, Josie,” Ellana complains as they walk back to the castle to begin the day’s work. “Do you think Dorian would be able to tell, if we asked him to check with magic?” The Inquisitor would attempt herself, but she was never one for the Spirit school of magic. Inferno and Ice are more her style.

Josephine’s expression is serene, compared to Ellana’s pouting frown. “Patience, my darling. It is only a day and good things come to those who wait, so they say. Surely you have other things with which to occupy your mind?”

“I suppose.” Ellana is still impatient, but she represses it for Josephine. If her beloved can wait a day – and it’s  _her_  body – then so can she.

* * *

The next morning Ellana waits with bated breath as Aeryn pricks Josephine’s arm with a knifepoint, letting a few drops of blood fall into the open flask she holds to the wound.

The liquid is a clear, pale, green, but as the blood hits the surface and dissipates, the color begins to shift towards a much deeper blue-green. Aeryn gives Ellana the flask to hold as she wraps a quick bandage around Josephine’s arm, tying it off neatly. “Well, there’s your answer then,” the healer says as she double checks her work before pulling Josephine’s sleeve down over the wound. “You can take off the bandage later today.”

“So…is it yes or no?” Ellana asks, holding the flask up to the light. The liquid inside is really rather pretty, such a strong translucent shade of turquoise. It certainly doesn’t  _look_  like the result they are pinning their hopes on.

Aeryn tsks as she takes the flask back from the elf, corking the neck and placing it securely on a table. “I believe congratulations are in order for the both of you.”

If they had been out in the main area of Skyhold, or in any public place really, Ellana would not have done it, knowing how Josephine prefers not to cause a scene. But Aeryn has become – not a friend, but at least a good acquaintance, after all the time the Inquisitor has spent in her care, and Ellana knows the healer won’t gossip. So she takes those three steps towards Josephine as the Antivan stands and grips her waist, lifting her love into the air and twirling around twice as Josephine laughs and steadies herself with hands on Ellana’s shoulders.

She gradually lowers Josephine until she stands on her own two feet once more, although Josephine’s hands have yet to leave her shoulders. No words are needed as their eyes, then lips, meet, reaffirming their happiness and love.

“Josie,” Ellana breathes when the kiss ends, forehead resting against Josephine’s and not a space between their bodies, “we’re going to have a  _baby_.”

* * *

That night, when Josephine is sitting up in bed, reading some final letters to deal with on the morrow, Ellana takes a seat on the bed next to her beloved rather than sliding under the covers beside her. She acknowledges Josephine’s curious look over the sheets of parchment but doesn’t answer the silent question; instead, she leans forward until she is lying on the bed, her head level with Josephine’s abdomen. Slowly, giving her lover time to object, Ellana slips her hand under the Antivan’s night shirt, feeling the light cotton drape over her fingers as she pushes the cloth up to bare Josephine’s stomach. When Josephine doesn’t protest, but instead places her parchment sheaf on the bedside table, Ellana smiles and leans forward to press a kiss to the warm skin of Josephine’s abdomen.

“Somniar sulahn’nehn, da’len,” she murmurs, her lips moving against Josephine’s stomach and feeling her beloved’s muscles twitch under her attentions. Then there are gentle hands in her hair, guiding her head up and away until she can meet Josephine’s dark gaze.

Bemusement wars with affection as Josephine regards her lover, sitting there with a smile curving her lips. “You do know the child is naught but a speck, Ellana?”

Ellana shrugs, happiness still shining in her eyes as she leans forward once more, this time to press a gentle kiss to Josephine’s mouth. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll still wish our child happy dreams every night, for as long as you’ll let me.”

* * *

As promised, Ellana seeks out Dorian the next day, finding the mage in his normal library haunt. This time he puts down his scroll immediately upon seeing the elf approach, his eyes bright with eagerness. “Inquisitor, what brings you to see me this fine day?”

Ellana sends him a teasing smile, deciding to drag the moment out a little longer. “Well, I have a question for you about Spirit magic, actually.”

Dorian’s face falls for a moment before his scholarly interest takes over. “Oh? I’m sure I’ll have no problems answering it, all-knowing practitioner that I am.”

Ellana takes a seat opposite the mage and leans back, folding her arms. “We’ll see. The question is this: are you able to distinguish between types of matter inside a living being when you’re healing?”

The altus’s eyebrows wing up in surprise, but he does consider her question. There is silence for a minute in the alcove, silence during which Ellana has to suppress the smile that threatens to break out on her lips at any moment, before Dorian answers. “Well, I know some spirit healers are able to mend bones and muscles independently, so I imagine it’s  _feasible_. As for us ‘common’ spirit mages, no. Flesh is flesh, and distinguishing between varieties is impossible.”

“Ah.”

“Why do you ask, if I may inquire?” Dorian’s curiosity is getting the better of him.

“Well, because I thought you may be able to ‘see’ our child, but I guess –”

“Your child?” The mage latches onto the words, excitement fairly bursting from his skin now. “As in, there is now a child? Are you sure?”

“Yes our child, we went to the healer yesterday and she confirmed it.” Her cheeks hurt from how wide her smile is, but she can’t stop. “Before you can ask, no you can’t tell, no we won’t know the gender until it’s born, and it will be months yet. But,” and she can  _feel_  the happiness warming her heart at the thought, “there is a child.”

“Oh this is  _wonderful_!” Dorian claps his hands in jubilation. “When will you tell the rest? Can I be there?”

“We want to keep the news to ourselves a little longer,” Ellana says carefully, “but you’ll be there when we tell them.”

There is a bit of smugness to Dorian’s smirk as he looks at the Inquisitor. “I cannot  _wait_  to see their faces.”

* * *

Two weeks later, the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle and Advisors are gathered on the second floor of The Herald’s Rest. They have the level to themselves; any patrons previously inhabiting the tables had left without argument the moment Ellana requested. She is still regarded with near-worship by the general soldiers, even these many months after Corypheus’s defeat.

Ellana is sitting at one of the round tables, Josephine next to her with their fingers entwined, Leliana across from her with one of her enigmatic smiles ghosting her lips. Of course Josephine had told her friend that she was pregnant, the same day Ellana told Dorian. The rest of her friends are spread around the other tables: Dorian and Bull – both with wide, knowing grins – sitting on the same bench, Sera opposite them and trying to drop what Ellana suspects is pepper into the Bull’s stein, Cullen and Cassandra looking equally uncomfortable as they lean against two different walls, Varric leaning back in a chair as Cole perches on the tabletop next to him, eyes curious as he eyes the three women.

After a few minutes of quiet conversation among the groups, Varric clears his throat loudly, drawing all attention towards himself. “So,” the dwarf begins, slouching back in his chair as he crosses his arms, “are you two gonna tell us why we’re all gathered here, or do we get to guess?”

“Yeah, ‘cos I got more important shite to do with my time then sitting here all boring-like,” Sera adds, snatching her hand away from Bull’s drink just before the Qunari turns to look at her.

“Comfort at night, arms tight around a new treasure.” That is Cole, his head cocked curiously and legs swinging as he looks at the two women. “You’ve never been so happy.”

Ellana sends the boy – because Cole will never be fully grown up in her eyes, not with his child-like innocence – a crooked grin. Trust him to cut to the heart of the matter, and be completely indecipherable in the doing. “Well, we gathered the lot of you because you’ve become our friends, and there’s something we’d like to share.”

“Oh?”

Cassandra straightens from her perch against the wall, giving Ellana and Josephine a piercing look; the Seeker is more than intelligent enough to figure out their news, if provided with sufficient hints. The other three – Sera, Cullen, and Varric – appear clueless, although the Iron Bull’s shit-eating grin only widens at their confusion.

Josephine gives Ellana’s hand a squeeze and picks up the narrative. “As you know, the two of us have been involved for some time now,” she pauses to ignore Sera’s loud raspberry, “and with the world having been calm for some time now, Ellana and I have decided to start a family. In truth, we already have.” Her free hand comes to cover her stomach, and everyone present is more than perceptive enough to make the leap.

Predictably, Sera is the first one to break the silence, her tone incredulous. “But  _how_?”

A choked sound has Ellana turning to look at Leliana in concern – the Spymaster has one gloved wrist pressed to her mouth, and her face is turning red with suppressed laughter. Apparently one glance at Sera’s perturbed face is enough to break her control, because Leliana doubles over with what sound like cackles floating up past her shaking shoulders. Beyond the Spymaster, she sees Cassandra roll her eyes, although she can’t hear the Seeker’s signature disgusted noise over Leliana’s maniacal laughter.

Since Sera’s question  _seems_  serious, Ellana does try to answer, truly. But her thoughts seem to twist and tangle around themselves as she speaks, so she never gets past the first part of a phrase. “Well we had, er, we asked, um…”

“Josephine ate the baby!”

_What?_

Bull, who had been taking a long drink from his stein, chokes and spits out a fine spray of ale. Ellana can’t fault him for that reaction.

Cole is swinging his legs faster now, nearly bouncing on the table as he explains. “The baby is in her stomach, and food goes in her stomach by eating, so Josephine ate the baby!”

Next to him, Varric groans and cradles his head in his hands. “Kid, no, that’s not how this works…”

“But –”

Ellana tunes out  _that_  interesting discussion, turning her attention back to the still-confused archer. Sera also ignores the duo, instead choosing to elaborate on her question. “I mean I know  _how_ , everyone knows  _how_  – ‘cept the demon over there apparently – but you’re both, both,  _women_ , so  _how_?”

Thankfully for all involved in this parody of a discussion, Josephine decides to take over the explanation. “We asked a donor, Sera. Just because we are both women does not mean we are incapable of having children; it simply means that the child will not contain genes from the both of us.”

Sera’s features twist in disgust. “So you had sex with some guy? And Inky was okay with that?  _Ew!_ ”

Ellana feels her beloved take in a deep breath and release the air slowly, an exercise she does only when she is fighting to restrain her temper. It doesn’t usually take much for Sera to get under Josephine’s skin, but the annoyance has risen unusually quickly tonight. This time the Inquisitor takes over as she strokes a soothing hand down Josephine’s spine, feeling the muscles of her back tense at the sensation. “No, Sera. There was a way – and no, I’m not going to tell you what it is, you can find out yourself if you wish to know so badly – to do so without any…untoward attentions.” Under her palm she feels Josephine minutely relax, and a grateful squeeze of her hand communicates her lover’s unspoken ‘thank you’.

The rest of their ‘meeting’ wraps up quickly, with Ellana fending off Sera’s repeated questions of ‘why would you even  _want_  a brat?’ until Leliana takes it upon herself to deal with the archer. Josephine’s lips have been pressing tighter and tighter as Sera mouths off, until Ellana is sure she will explode if they don’t excuse themselves  _now_. So she makes their goodbyes to the others and escorts Josephine away with a firm arm around her waist, only letting go once they exit the tavern into the cool night air.

The Antivan’s shoulders are still stiff with what Ellana thinks is indignation, and she has to lengthen her strides to keep up with Josephine’s pace as they return to the castle.

“Josephine? Ma sa’lath, I can’t help if you don’t tell me why you’re upset.” She reaches forward, catching Josephine’s hand and interlacing their fingers, successfully slowing the diplomat’s pace until she walks beside Ellana once more, although her body is still tense.

“It’s…” Josephine blows out a breath, the gust of hair stirring a lock of hair that has fallen loose from her chignon this late in the day, “it’s silly, and I  _know_  it’s silly, but what Sera said, about…about all of this,” one hand waves in front of them, a gesture that is barely visible in the darkness, “I just…”

“She was out of line, Josephine. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, I swear.”

“No. No, you shouldn’t.” Another sigh, this one taking some of the tension with it. “It doesn’t matter, what she says. It is our life, our family, and our choices that are important.”

“But it mattered to you.” They are inside the hall now, the candles of the chandeliers casting just enough light for Ellana to make out Josephine’s expression. It is a blend of recrimination, exasperation, and resignation, all finally ceding to a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach Josephine’s eyes as her beloved turns to meet Ellana’s searching gaze.

“It didn’t, not truly.” Ellana doesn’t believe her, but doesn’t push the issue as they climb the steps to their shared quarters.

There is quiet as they prepare for bed, ending with their nightly ritual; Ellana unwinds Josephine’s long hair and gently brushes it out before beginning a loose braid. A tug on the end of the plait signals that she has finished, and Josephine stretches out on the bed as Ellana puts away the comb and banks the fire.

As has become another tradition over the past two weeks, Ellana sits on the bed next to her lover and leans down to press a kiss and a whisper to Josephine’s abdomen before moving up to do the same to her lips, seeing the tension finally – _finally_  – fade from Josephine’s face as she lets her irritation be soothed.

“I love you, Josie. The both of you. That’s all that matters.”

* * *

The bout of irritation with Sera heralds the beginning of a rough few weeks for Josephine. She is able to keep her temper level when meeting with irritating diplomats and long-winded ambassadors, but often Ellana finds that her beloved needed to let out her anger inbetween meetings, or the rest of the day will be miserable for the both of them.

After a long week of emotional volatility – which has Josephine tearily apologizing nearly as often as she snaps – Ellana declares a rest day for the both of them, overriding Josephine’s protestations that she is  _perfectly capable of doing her job, thank you very much, and does not need to be coddled!_

But if there is one thing the Inquisitor has learned in the last week, it is how to hold her ground against her love without antagonizing her even further. So with persuasive words – a technique she picked up from Josephine early on – and many assurances, Ellana is able to convince Josephine to take a day for herself.

She enlists Leliana’s aid in setting up a picnic on the Inquisitor’s balcony; Leliana’s job is to procure the food and blanket, while her own task is to keep Josephine from entering her office to answer just  _one_ more missive. She has to employ some –  _distraction_  techniques to succeed, and both of them are rather pleased with the outcome.

It is nearing noon when they finally leave their new quarters – Gatsi had been very quick about modifying the suite of rooms for them – to meet Leliana. Ellana hasn’t told Josephine of her plans, although she has no doubt her lover has put together most of the facts; regardless, Josephine follows her without comment up to the Inquisitor’s room.

Leliana is waiting for them on the balcony, standing aside with a grin to the two women as she gestures at the spread awaiting them. There is bread, butter, cheese, and fruit set out on a blanket, a bottle of wine and two goblets standing in the middle next to a vase of flowers. The Spymaster had certainly enjoyed herself in the set-up.

“Thank you, Leliana,” Ellana tells the other woman sincerely. “I appreciate you doing this.”

“Anything for Josephine,” the Spymaster replies, eyes watching her friend as Josephine moves forward, inspecting the selection. Then her attention returns to the elf, gaze direct. “Or for you, Inquisitor. The two of you are no longer separable.”

 _Oh_. She isn’t sure how to respond to that, but Leliana saves her the awkwardness and leaves with a nod. So instead she walks to the blanket, sitting down opposite her beloved, who has already taken a seat on one of the little pillows supplied.

“Ellana…” for a moment she thinks Josephine is about to be indignant over… _something_ , but when she meets her lover’s dark eyes, there is only happiness. Rather than speak, Josephine leans forward and presses a light kiss to her mouth; Ellana savors the contact, feeling her lips tingle even after Josephine turns her attention to the food. “Oh!”

“What is it?” Her eyebrows furrow as Josephine lifts a rock to release a wrapped bundle of parchment, a giddy smile spreading over the Antivan’s face.

“A letter from Mama! I thought perhaps it had been waylaid, but Leliana must have intercepted it.” Josephine doesn’t seem upset by her friend’s intrusion, so Ellana lets it pass. She is more interested in setting out the food as Josephine eagerly opens the letter; besides, Leliana’s conniving has made today even happier for Josephine, so why should she protest?

It is an exercise in will to keep from asking Josephine what her mother wrote, but the Inquisitor succeeds, instead busying herself with pouring them both a glass of wine to complement the fare. She is reaching for a piece of bread and some cheese when Josephine moves to the next page of her letter and another bundle falls out. “’Lana, this is addressed to you!” There is surprise and happiness coloring Josephine’s tone, and she beams at the elf as Ellana reaches for the parchment.

“Your parents wrote to me?” She is a bit confused, since the older Montilyets have never contacted her individually before – any messages have always been tacked onto the ends of letters to Josephine. But this time the smaller bundle is definitely addressed to ‘Inquisitor Ellana Lavellan’. Curious, she opens the parchment, and has to suppress a smile at the first line alone.

_Inquisitor Lavellan,_

_I’m sure you have already begun to experience Josephine’s temper. It is similar to her mother’s, but augmented by an even sharper tongue; alas, you may blame us for this, since we insisted she be well educated in the realm of words. However, I found a subtle way to defuse her mother was by offering another target for her ire – one that may be easily remedied. Do not let the anger fester long. Also, do coax her into taking naps as, if I know my Josie, she will focus on her work to the exclusion of her health._

_Yves Montilyet_

Josephine looks up from her own message once more when the elf snickers, eyes sharp as she observes her lover. “What was in your letter, Ellana?”

The Inquisitor swiftly folds up the parchment, secreting it away inside her tunic. “Just confirming something I already knew,” she replies, knowing her grin isn’t reassuring Josephine a single bit. Yves’s words have made the knot of apprehension in her heart – the one that has been there since she first realized what it meant to love a noble, since she realized that a lowly Dalish elf may never been seen as good enough for Josephine – finally loosen and vanish, because underlying his words is a message of acceptance and approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Somniar sulahn’nehn, da’len" - Sweet/happy/joyful dreams, little one  
> At least, as best I could figure out how to say it.
> 
> So, now that they know, the _real_ fun can begin. *rubs hands together*


	5. Month Three: Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is himself, Dagna is...Dagna, and Josie and Ellana have cute-times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a gratuitous amount of fluff. We're talking _overly-sweet-tooth-rotting-I-regret-nothing **fluff**_.  
>  **You have been warned.**

**Month Three**

Ellana is just leaving the kitchens – where she had been arranging to have a meal brought to the Ambassador’s office – when she nearly runs into someone leaving said office in a rush. Before she can even get out an apology, the person is ranting.

“What is with you women and throwing things at my face?” Dorian’s expression is aggrieved as he holds a hand to the afflicted area, eyes accusing. “First you with the horse brush, and now your paramour with a scroll. It’s as though you _enjoy_ assaulting me!”

The elf gives him a once over. “If you were bugging Josie again about the baby –”

“I wasn’t _bugging_ her –”

“– then you ought to count yourself lucky that she didn’t throw the inkwell at you instead.”

The mage gives an affronted gasp, one hand coming to his chest in distress. “In my elegant attire? Surely she wouldn’t!”

Ellana simply raises an eyebrow and pushes past the man, entering her beloved’s office. The Ambassador is sitting at her desk, head cradled in her hands, quill dangling from between two fingers. She doesn’t think Josephine realizes that she is getting a spot of ink on her forehead.

“I swear to the Maker, if that man asks me _one_ more question about this child…” The sentence is mumbled as if to herself, but Ellana knows that Josephine is aware of her presence. She moves forward, stopping to pick up a slightly flattened scroll lying in the middle of the floor on her way.

“They say it’s dangerous to return a weapon to its wielder, but I think you’ll need this,” Ellana jokes as she lays the bound parchment on the desk. When Josephine raises her head to look at Ellana, the elf takes a moment to scan her lover’s face; sure enough, she can see the tightness at the corners of Josephine’s mouth that signal nausea, headache, or both. Damn Dorian for pestering her now! She quiets her voice, trying to distract the diplomat until the tea and crackers she has ordered from the kitchen arrive. “What is it you always tell Leliana? Niceness before knives?”

Her levity is rewarded with a wry laugh as Josephine lets her hands fall back to the desk. Sure enough, there is a black spot on the Antivan’s forehead, up near her hairline. “I wasn’t trying to –” she cuts herself off as Ellana licks the ball of her thumb and reaches towards her over the desk. “What are you doing?”

One of the elf’s hands steadies Josephine’s head while she rubs the smudge away. Only when she is satisfied the ink is gone does she let go and smile. “There was a spot. You should really be more careful with your ink, Josie. Or if you _have_ to get it on someone, throw the lot at Dorian. He could use the experience.”

Josephine’s fingers comes up to brush self-consciously at the now-clean spot, even as she eyes her inkwell in speculation. A year ago, the diplomat wouldn’t even _consider_ the possibility of deliberately antagonizing someone like that; Ellana is smugly proud of how her pranking attitude has rubbed off on her beloved. After a moment of consideration, Josephine sighs and brushes fingertips over the crystal container. “But this was a present. I don’t wish to break it.” The Antivan dismisses that train of thought and looks up at Ellana, one hand reaching for her quill once more. “What did you need, my darling?”

Ellana counters that question with one of her own. “Have you eaten today?” The twist of Josephine’s mouth is answer enough. She has given up trying to get breakfast into her lover, since it rarely stays down, but Josephine needs to eat _something_ throughout the day; right on cue, the door to the office pushes open once more, and a servant enters with a laden tray. “Ah, thank you.”

Josephine eyes the tray warily as the servant places it on the desk, Ellana clearing a spot of drafts and notes. “’Lana, I don’t think I can…”

The Inquisitor rounds the desk to sit beside the diplomat, perching on the arm of the chair. “Just some tea at first, okay? I promise it will help.”

One of brown hand lowers to cover her abdomen, as though the mere thought of food is enough to turn her stomach, but Josephine nods resignedly. She is just as aware of the need to keep some form of sustenance in her body, and even if she can’t handle anything else, the tea will at least keep her stomach from protesting its emptiness.

Ellana pours tea for them both, handing Josephine a sturdy mug; she waits for her lover to take a sip before she relaxes, placing the teapot back on the tray – and spotting the note lying there for the first time. Her eyes scan the elegant scrawl, and a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth; it seems Dorian feels he acted poorly, and has laced the tea with an anti-nausea concoction from his childhood. Well, perhaps he _doesn’t_ deserve a face-full of ink.

* * *

Since Josephine has begun to describe – not complain of, since Ellana had to practically drag the first admission out of her – neck and back pain, there is a new addition to their nightly routine. After Josephine’s hair is brushed and braided, Ellana coaxes her lover into lying down on her stomach – something she won’t be able to do much longer – with a pillow under her chest to help keep pressure off her tender breasts and her sleep-shirt hiked up to bare her back. The elf had asked Aeryn for some suggestions in easing Josephine’s pain, and the healer’s recommendation was to relax the muscles; it is a sign of Josephine’s exhaustion at night that she doesn’t even protest the need for a massage.

So Ellana warms her hands with a little bit of magic then begins working on the tenseness she can feel along Josephine’s shoulders and neck. Her fingers move in firm circles, pressing into the protesting muscles until she finally feels the knots soften and disappear, before moving onto the next. She works her way across Josephine’s shoulders, down her spine, under her shoulder blades, up the column of her neck, always watchful for any sign that she is hurting her beloved. But Josephine is silent save for a few sighs of pleasure as Ellana’s hands soothe a particularly sore muscle.

She always ends with a kiss to the nape of Josephine’s neck, which is the signal for her lover to turn over. Josephine is early in the third month of pregnancy and her stomach is still flat but, when Ellana rests a hand on her beloved’s abdomen, she can feel a rounded hardness under the skin; the first physical proof – apart from Josephine’s swollen breasts and nausea – of their child.

“Still so small,” Ellana murmurs, splaying her fingers across warm brown skin. She is still able to cover Josephine’s stomach with one hand, and it would be a lie to say she isn’t looking forward to that changing. She drops a kiss between two of her fingers, slightly off-center, and feels Josephine’s muscles twitch as she giggles.

Josephine’s hands come to cradle her face, drawing Ellana up her body. “Not for much longer.” She nestles against her lover as the elf draws the blankets over them, curling into Ellana’s side. “We will have to –” a stifled yawn, “have to modify our sleeping arrangement soon.” She snakes an arm over her lover’s waist, pulling herself flush against the other woman’s side and resting her head on Ellana’s shoulder to prove her point. “But…” Josephine’s eyelids are already closing, her voice fading as she turns her head just enough to press her nose against Ellana’s neck, “not tonight.”

A sleepy smile pulls at Ellana’s lips as she agrees. “Not tonight, ma sa’lath.” Her free hand ghosts along Josephine’s side until it can rest, palm down, just above her abdomen, sending her own silent ‘good night’ to their child.

She is woken early the next morning by a now-familiar sound: retching. The mornings are always the worst for Josephine; her nausea doesn’t quite _abate_ , but tends to at least diminish as the day continues. She rolls out of bed, suppressing a shiver as her bare feet come in contact with the cold stone floor, and moves unerringly towards the corner of the room where she can see the faint outline of her lover in the predawn grey. Josephine is kneeling over the – no longer – empty chamberpot they have learned to keep in the room, one hand holding her braid out of the way, the other braced on the floor next to the urn.

The elf crouches next to her beloved, stroking soothingly down Josephine’s back as she feels the other woman heave, and heave again under her hand. Either today was a relatively light bout or she has woken up late, since Josephine leans back on her heels after a moment with a tired sigh. Small tendrils of hair have escaped her braid and frame her face, stuck to the skin with sweat that has appeared even in the chilly room, and Ellana thinks Josephine still looks more beautiful than anyone she has ever seen.

“Well, there is one benefit to living in the mountains.” Josephine sounds drained, so Ellana wraps an arm around her waist, tugging the Antivan to sit more fully on the ground and into her side. Josephine doesn’t protest and relaxes against the elf, letting Ellana support her body for a moment.

“What’s that?”

A dry chuckle. “The cold keeps the smell down.” Josephine gathers herself and pushes to her feet, drawing Ellana along with her. “There are a couple hours yet until the day must begin. We should get what sleep we can.”

“Mm.” Ellana is more than willing to agree with that statement, returning to the bed as Josephine stops at the washbasin to rinse out her mouth. By the time Josephine joins her, the elf is already beginning to nod off, stirring just long enough to brush a kiss across Josephine’s forehead and murmur “love you” as the diplomat curls into her side once more.

* * *

Josephine is concentrating on her work – and _not_ her body’s seemingly incessant need for yet _another_ trip to the lavatory – when her focus is effectively broken by the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Her guest is short, redheaded, and practically vibrating with an energy that makes Josephine weary from simply looking at her. “Yes, Dagna? Is there something you need ordered?”

The Arcanist has her hands clasped behind her back and is standing with most of her weight on one leg, the other foot fidgeting back and forth against the stone floor. It’s a change from the usually self-assured dwarf, and somehow Josephine _knows_ whatever is coming will be quite discomforting. “Not ordered, no.” The sentence is dragged out as Dagna’s eyes flick over the Ambassador, and Josephine shifts uncomfortably in her seat. After a silence that lasts only ten or so seconds, the rest of Dagna’s words tumble out of her mouth. “Well I’d heard that you were pregnant, and dwarven pregnancies are pretty rare you know, it probably has something to do with all the Lyrium we’re around. I wonder if I can make a study of that? But that means I have to find pregnant dwarves and that’s really harder than it sounds…”

“Dagna.” She has grown used to this, in the time that the dwarf has been with the Inquisition. Dagna is quite easily sidetracked by stray thoughts, and Ellana has told her that the best way to bring the Arcanist back to the topic at hand is to ask her a question in return. “Why do you want to know about my condition?”

“Oh!” And just like that, the Arcanist straightens with a near tangible curiosity burning in her eyes, completely focused on Josephine once more. “Well, since dwarven pregnancies _are_ so rare, I’ve never actually, you know, seen one or gotten to ask questions. So I thought maybe you could answer them for me?”

 _Oh,_ _she is going to regret this_ , but Josephine still finds herself nodding her agreement. “I will answer as well as I am able, Dagna.” When the dwarf lets out what sounds suspiciously like a squeal, Josephine raises one hand in caution. “I cannot promise that I will know all the answers you seek.”

“That’s okay!” Dagna is bouncing on her toes, hands still clasped behind her back, and suddenly that foreboding feeling is increased tenfold. “What changes have you noticed so far? Are they just physical? Are any of them visible? Can you feel the child yet? Do you know the gender? Will you be able to find out the gender? Have –”

“ _Dagna_.” Josephine’s hand is still raised, but now it feels more like a metaphorical barrier against the rapid-fire burst of questions. “Slowly.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry!”

Thank the Maker for her training, both as a diplomat and a bard, that allows her to recall Dagna’s questions with clarity. “Yes, there have been physical changes, and yes, some are visible. I’m sure you can ascertain which those are on your own. The remaining physical changes are…” she has to ponder for a moment, how to make her words as clinical as the Arcanist’s, before continuing, “pressure on my bladder, nausea throughout the day, and sore muscles in my back and neck.” If Dagna didn’t have her hands locked firmly behind her, she would undoubtedly be taking notes. “No I cannot feel the child moving yet, and no, we will not know the gender until it is born. Does that information help?”

The thoughtful gleam in Dagna’s eyes as the dwarf eyes Josephine’s chair is rather ominous, but thankfully the dwarf abandons that train of thought for the moment. “You said you had nausea?” Josephine nods. “Is there a time when it is most potent? How long has it been occurring? I wonder why you get nauseous…can I make a rune to stop it? Hm. Can you get me a sample of –”

“No.” As much as she would enjoy the cessation of her morning sickness, Josephine is _not_ willing to subject herself to one of Dagna’s experimental runes, or collect a sample of her own vomit. She would rather bear the nausea. When Dagna opens her mouth to plead her case, the Ambassador pins her with a stern look – the one that causes even Yvette to back down – and the dwarf subsides with a pout.

“Okay, fine. I have a few more questions though. Are you still able to engage in carnal relations, or does something _change_ down there?” Josephine feels her face flush a bright red, but Dagna continued unperturbed. “Can you still take hot baths? What is it like to have something that isn’t _you_ inside your body, feeding off of you? I mean, it isn’t a parasite, _technically_ , because it’s not killing you, but it’s not helping you either…what do they call that? You’d be the host, and it would be the symbiont…hey, can I call your baby that? Symbiont? Maybe Sym for short! That’s really cute actually, baby Sym –”

Merciful Andraste, why had she agreed to this again? She must have taken leave of her senses. Josephine resists the urge – barely – to close her eyes and rub at her temples. “Dagna.” At least the dwarf quiets every time her name is uttered; thank the Maker for small blessings. “Was there anything else you wanted?” She needs to put a stop to this question-spree before the headache throbbing at the base of her skull decides to spread, and Ellana comes by to force – cajole – her into another nap. Besides, she really does have a lot of work to get done.

All that vibrant excitement seems to flee the dwarf’s body, because she suddenly looks much smaller and very uncertain. “Well, I was wondering if maybe I could…touch it? Your stomach I mean. Not the baby, because the baby isn’t born yet, and that would be really weird, and probably impossible, and…”

 _Oh_. Aeryn had warned her this would become a thing as her pregnancy progressed, but somehow Dagna’s request seems different. “There isn’t much to feel yet,” she cautions the dwarf, but Dagna’s face lights up at the implied agreement. In a few quick skips she is around the desk, standing next to Josephine’s chair with her hand stuck out in the air.

“This is so awesome, I’ve never felt a growing person before! Well, I mean one that isn’t really a person yet, because everybody is technically growing as long as they’re alive, but they don’t count.” She stands perfectly still as Josephine takes her wrist, guiding the dwarf’s palm to rest against the brocade covering her abdomen, just below her cinch. The change isn’t quite as noticeable through all the layers of clothing, but apparently it is enough because Dagna’s eyes widen as she holds her palm there. “ _Woah_. Why is it so hard? Oh, to protect the baby. It’s really low right now though, and _small_. Not that it’ll stay small for long…” Her voice trails off, her attention completely focused on the palm of her hand. After nearly a minute of silence – silence that is both uncomfortable and not, for Josephine, with someone else’s hand basically feeling up her stomach – Dagna withdraws her hand with a happy sigh. “Thanks, Ambassador. Really.” The dwarf’s grey eyes are sincere, nearly on level with Josephine’s as she stands there. “I’m going to find some way to fix up your chair, so you don’t hurt anymore.”

Well. Josephine is unsure if she should be grateful or worried, but settles for the former. “I would appreciate that, thank you. Perhaps you could discuss a few ideas with the Inquisitor?” Hopefully Ellana will keep the Arcanist from getting _too_ out of hand…

“Yeah!” Dagna perks up, her bubbly energy returning once more. “I’ll do that! Thanks again, Ambassador!”

Then Dagna is gone in a whirlwind of movement, leaving Josephine alone in her office once more, wondering what, exactly, happened in the last half hour. The empty silence of her office provides no answers, and so, Josephine returns back to work with a sigh. Surely she’ll find out soon enough.

* * *

“Josie?” Ellana’s query breaks the morning silence of the room, the elf looking over at Josephine from where she is still abed propped on her elbows. Her tone is light, conveying only simple curiosity, but her gaze is worried as she watches her love simply…stand there, back to the bed. The Ambassador had been getting dressed to start her day early, as per usual, but halfway through donning her gold silk blouse she had suddenly stopped, the blouse falling to the floor unheeded, and hasn’t moved since. “Josie, what is it?”

“I…’Lana?” Josephine’s voice is quieter than usual, almost uncertain, and that has Ellana out of bed in an instant, her feet moving her swiftly to her love’s side.

“What’s wrong, ma sa’lath?” She stands in front of Josephine, her hands stroking up and down the other woman’s arms. Josephine isn’t looking at her; the diplomat’s gaze is fixed on her stomach, so Ellana follows her eyes and…sees nothing wrong. “Josie, what is it? Do you feel something? Do you need to see Aeryn?”

“No!” Josephine’s response is quick, and that at least reassures the elf. “No, nothing is wrong. I just…” She lets out shaky breath as she raises one hand to cover her abdomen, as Ellana watches, concerned. “Ellana, I can _see_ it.”

“See what, ma sa’lath?” She honestly has no idea what Josephine is referring to, but the distress in her love’s dark eyes is enough to have her heart clenching in response.

“I’m _growing_ , ‘Lana! I can see it, and…” Josephine’s hand leaves her abdomen to gesture and, now that she has pointed it out, Ellana can see the slightest change to the curve of Josephine’s abdomen above the band of her smalls. Her own hands come to rest on Josephine’s waist, mapping the swell with her fingertips. How had she not felt it before?

“Josie, that’s wonderful!” But Josephine’s misery is still apparent, even in the face of Ellana’s obvious excitement, and the elf _doesn’t understand_. “Isn’t it?”

“Well, _yes_ , but…” Josephine ducks her head, and Ellana raises one hand cup the Antivan’s neck – tanned skin against deeper brown, feeling the thrum of Josephine’s pulse under her fingers. When she speaks again, her voice is small. “You don’t find me…ungainly?” At Ellana’s uncomprehending look she tries again, although her cheeks are turning the deep red of embarrassment and she keeps her eyes averted. “I’ve been…putting on weight, and…and I’m worried you won’t…”

Her self-conscious and hesitant words, coupled with the way she won’t quite meet Ellana’s eyes, finally clue the elf in. “Josephine, look at me.” She waits, one hand on Josephine’s thickening waist – and now she really can feel the difference – and the other moving to cradle her love’s cheek, until Josephine raises her eyes to meet Ellana’s expectant gaze. “Ma sa’lath, you are beautiful. You will _always_ be beautiful to me; this I promise with all my heart.”

She wills her love to see the truth in her eyes, but she can tell Josephine doesn’t completely believe her by the way the diplomat’s eyes flick downwards momentarily. More words are needed. So Ellana turns Josephine around in her arms – not giving her time to protest – and pulls the other woman against her, interlacing her fingers over Josephine’s stomach and resting her chin on one bare shoulder. “Ma emma lath. Ma vhenan’ara.” She has been slowly teaching Josephine Elven, has taught her enough that she knows her love understands the words she speaks in adoration. “You were lovely before, but now…now you are _radiant_.” She feels Josephine’s hands come up to cover hers and the other woman’s body relaxing against her; her heart rejoices as she turns her head to nuzzle at the crook of Josephine’s neck, pressing her nose against her lover’s skin and inhaling the scent, uniquely Josephine, that will forever signify _love_ and _trust_ and _home_.

“Do you promise?” Her voice is soft, but the insecurity behind the words has vanished, so Ellana simply presses a kiss to Josephine’s neck and savors the moment.

“I _promise_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, serious props (and possibly a oneshot if that's a thing to give out on this story? I don't know...) to anyone who sees what interesting and quite accidental word thing my brain did in the first few paragraphs. Apparently I like patterns.


	6. Month Four: Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the first trimester has passed, preparation can begin in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one really ran away from me, but...no regrets.  
> Also, headcanon that Bull still calls Dorian 'the Vint', but it's much more affectionate now.

**Month Four**

Ellana nonchalantly walks into Josephine’s office, opening the door without knocking. Gone are the days when the Ambassador had to isolate herself with a Lord or Lady to convince the noble to part with their overabundant funds, so she never has to worry about interrupting a critical meeting. Sure enough, the diplomat is sitting at her desk, poring over some treatise or trade-agreement that looks far too long to interest the elf. Josephine doesn’t look up at the sound of her entry, her attention remaining focused on the stack of parchment in front of her, so Ellana takes a moment to simply watch her lover at work.

There are a few differences in Josephine’s posture and movements – which have been changing over the last few months, especially when compared to her bearing prior to Corypheus’s defeat – that immediately catch her eye: the way Josephine shifts every few minutes, as though unable to find a comfortable position, her fingers unconsciously tapping on the wooden surface next to the parchment, an outlet for a surplus of energy that the Antivan would normally never allow to be seen.

She waits a few minutes longer before finally deciding to break the silence of the room. “Josie?”

“Just a moment, my love,” comes the response, the diplomat’s dark head still bent over her work. With a smile – some things never change – Ellana crosses to stand by the only window in the office, one hand reaching forward to cover Josephine’s still-tapping fingers. They quiet under her hand as Josephine becomes aware of their movement, a slight flush rising in her cheeks the only indication of her chagrin. After another minute Josephine leans backwards with a sigh, pressing her shoulders into the soft padding of her chair as she arches her back in a stretch, then turns her head to look at Ellana, her curiosity as to the Inquisitor’s presence evident. It is nearly two hours since the elf stopped by to ensure she ate a midday meal, and Ellana doesn’t usually visit again until supper.

Ellana grins and curls her fingers around Josephine’s hand, tugging lightly. “Come take a walk with me.”

Josephine looks at the pile of work awaiting her attention, at the elf’s roguish grin, and then back at the papers…and sighs. “You present a convincing argument without even trying, ‘Lana; you must teach me how you do this someday.” She turns her hand until their palms meet, using Ellana as an anchor to lever herself out of the chair. As her legs straighten the Antivan makes a face of discomfort, leaning more heavily on the elf.

“Josie?” the Inquisitor asks again, voice concerned.

“A moment.” Her eyes squeeze closed as she lifts one foot, then the other, before exhaling as she lets go of Ellana’s bracing hand. “Thank you. Where shall we go?”

Ellana decides to shelve her questions – at least until she has Josephine away from her desk. “I was thinking we could go to the Herald’s Rest; Bull has been making noises about wanting a visit from you for days now.”

“That sounds quite pleasant,” Josephine agrees with a nod, stepping out from behind her desk. Her mouth twitches into a smile as she extends an arm in turn to Ellana. “Will you escort me then, Lady Inquisitor?”

The elf loops her arm through Josephine’s with a laugh, leading her lady out of the office. “Lady Montilyet, nothing would make me happier.”

They have to stop for a moment so Josephine can lock up her office – anyone who should _need_ to enter already has a key, save for the ambassadorial aide they had finally decided upon – then continue on through the hall, pausing momentarily to nod at Varric where he is engaged in light conversation with Scout Harding.

The crisp air of early autumn is a nice change from the sometimes stifling rooms of the hold, although they will always be grateful for the crackling fires no matter the season. It isn’t yet _quite_ cold enough to cause shivers, but Josephine still edges a little closer to Ellana, relishing the elf’s body heat. It is a short distance across the courtyard to the tavern, although the couple takes their time; Josephine to savor the walk and break from her desk, and Ellana to give her lover time to answer the question that has been tugging at her mind.

“Josephine, earlier you seemed to be…discomforted. Different from when your back and neck ache. Are you feeling alright?”

It heartens Ellana that the diplomat barely has to pause before answering. “It has become uncomfortable to sit for long periods of time, I have found. On occasion, my legs will become numb and walking is the only way to relieve the sensation.” She flashes a quick smile at the elf. “Were you surprised it was so easy to pry me away from my work?”

“Well…yes,” Ellana admits, though a grin plays at the corners of her mouth as well. “Although I must admit to hoping that my presence was reason enough.” She feels Josephine’s torso shake with a muffled laugh, and can’t suppress a self-deprecating chuckle of her own. “However, I shan’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were.”

It is only a few more steps to The Herald’s Rest, warmth and savory smells spilling out when Ellana pushes open the door. She sends a quick, concerned, look at Josephine, but it appears the nausea that had plagued her in those first few months has finally begin to abate, since the diplomat isn’t moving to escape.

“Boss! And Lady Ruffles!” Bull’s voice booms over the already loud chatter of the tavern. “So nice of you to visit!” The two women wend their way through the tables and people gathered around Maryden, the bard, until they reach Bull’s – relatively – quiet haunt. “Have a seat!” The chairs are wooden and large, made to fit someone of Bull’s size and musculature. Ellana feels rather dwarfed; she is able to sit all the way back in the chair and still have her feet touch the ground, but it is a close thing. Josephine, by contrast, manages to look completely comfortable and composed as she settles herself next to The Iron Bull and smiles at him.

“Ellana told me you pestered her about wishing to see me?”

“Well, yeah.” Bull looks quite comfortable as well, reclining in his chair with his head leaning on one hand, elbow braced against the wide armrest. “It’s not fair that Boss gets to keep all the fun parts to herself. So, you bite her head off yet?” At Ellana’s dull flush, the Qunari grins. “More than once, perhaps?”

Josephine also blushes slightly, but it is less apparent against her darker skin. “It was a…difficult few weeks. Thankfully, that time seems to be over.”

“Don’t praise your luck ‘til the dragon shows up,” Bull tells her sagely, and Ellana stares at the Qunari.

“Bull, usually it’s the _other way around_. We don’t _want_ to face a dragon.”

“Bah! We’ve killed eleven already, what’s one more?” is the warrior’s rejoinder. Ellana gives it up for a lost cause and looks over to Josephine for help, who simply shrugs. She’s on her own. Luckily, Bull seems to have his own idea for moving the conversation onwards. “Besides, I heard from the Vint that you beaned him good with a scroll. Nice aim!” Now Josephine’s blush is quite visible, though her shoulders square slightly at the praise from someone as physically accomplished as Bull. Besides, Dorian really did deserve it, after all.

“Anyways,” Bull leans forward in his chair, bracing both elbows on his knees now as he looks at both women, “I really asked Boss to bring you ‘cause I wanted to see for myself.” Josephine doesn’t need his waved hand in her direction to understand. “You’re lookin’ good Ruffles, real good. Used to hang around the Tamassrans when I was growing up, saw a lot of pregnant ladies. They did these special stretches, starting from when they were about your size. If you and the Boss want, I could show you?”

The elf looks over at Josephine, who is staring at the Iron Bull with wide eyes. Somehow, the Ambassador hadn’t expected the rough-and-ready mercenary leader to be so…knowledgeable. “I…that would be welcome, thank you,” she finally manages, her mind still adjusting to this new facet.

“Sure, no problem.” The warrior moves the topic on easily, not quite giving them time to catch up. “So, you do any prep for the kid yet?”

“Ah…” They haven’t really. Thus far, they’ve been more focused on Josephine’s comfort and, well…growing the baby, for lack of a better term. “Well…not yet.”

“You’d better get on that, Boss.” He looks over at Josephine. “And Ruffles of course. Kid’ll be here before you know it.”

They spend a few more minutes in idle chatter before Josephine makes her excuses, stating that she really must get back to her work. Ellana watches the diplomat rise from the hard wooden chair without complaint, although one hand comes to the small of her back as she gives a muted grimace. Once outside, Josephine tugs on Ellana’s arm to stop the Inquisitor from leading the way across the courtyard. “’Lana, I believe I shall visit Aeryn before returning to work. This backache is simply refusing to go away.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Josephine smiles at Ellana’s concerned expression. Really, sometimes the elf forgets that Josephine is perfectly capable of caring for herself, but the Antivan finds her fretting endearing – most of the time. “It shouldn’t be necessary, but I won’t refuse the company.”

The walk to the healer’s workroom is brief, which is good because the sun is already beginning its descent behind the mountain peaks. They find Aeryn standing at a low wooden table, grinding up some herbs as a cauldron of water boils in the hearth. The healer looks up, brushing a tendril of hair out of her face with the back of one wrist as she takes in her visitors. “Ah, Lady Josephine, Lady Inquisitor. Is my assistance required?”

“Just your advice,” Josephine replies, closing the door behind her. “I have been experiencing lingering muscle pains in my lower back; they refuse to abate, even at night.”

“Ah.” Aeryn looks thoughtful for a moment, her eyes tracing Josephine’s figure and posture, lingering on the cinch Josephine still wears – albeit looser than she used to – around her waist. “Such pains are a common part of being with child; however, I have two suggestions to help ease the muscles. First, I must ask: in what position do you sleep at night?”

Next to the Ambassador, Ellana flushes a dull red and prays Josephine will answer the question without relying upon her. Thankfully, she does so. “On my side, next to Ellana.”

“Do you face towards or away from her?”

“Towards.” Josephine looks mildly confused by the questions, but answers nonetheless.

“How close?”

It is Josephine’s turn to be uncomfortable. “Ah…”

“Mm.” With a noncommittal noise, the healer turns to look at Ellana. “You are still helping her to relax at night, yes?”

“…yes?” She has never seen this side of the healer – usually she is unconscious when Aeryn goes through her ‘healer’s questions’. It’s both intriguing and terrifying.

“Lady Josephine, if you would be so kind as to remove your belts?”

Josephine and Ellana exchange a mystified glance, but the diplomat does as she is asked, handing the sturdy fabric to Aeryn. The healer tugs on the cinch, testing its elasticity, and appears to find it suitable. “I would suggest you use this to support your stomach, rather than to shape it. Use it as a girdle – no, not quite as you would for a horse – to relieve some of the stress the child is putting upon your back. If you wish, I will show you how before you leave. I also advise modifying your sleeping position. You may find it more comfortable to place a pillow between your legs as you lay on your side; in addition, turning your back to the Lady Inquisitor may allow you to find a more natural position.”

Ellana’s eyes widen at the flood of information, and she is relieved to see Josephine nodding along as she absorbs and compartmentalizes the new knowledge. Thank the Creators for her love’s ordered mind.

“I would appreciate a demonstration, Aeryn. Ellana,” Josephine turns to the elf, gives her a light kiss on the cheek, “I’m sure you have much to do. I shall see you this evening.”

The Inquisitor knows a dismissal when she hears one, but she doesn’t mind. Besides, tonight she’ll need Josephine to explain – and possibly demonstrate – to her exactly how they will be sleeping, and that could turn out to be quite fun.

* * *

“Ach!”

Ellana looks over from where she is finishing up some early-morning paperwork – which she really should have taken care of last night – to see an unusually frustrated Josephine standing in front of their bed, tugging at her bodice irritably.

The Antivan sees her watching, and releases the fabric with a huff of exasperation. Ellana can see it straining ever so slightly over Josephine’s chest and stomach; a now obvious sign of her pregnancy, especially with the ‘girdle’ Aeryn had suggested. With the diplomat’s normal waist-sash, some of the tightness would be hidden, but nothing can be done about the bust short of adjusting the seams. “I shall have to schedule time to meet with a tailor this week. This is becoming _ridiculous_.”

Ellana stands and walks over to where Josephine has resumed tugging first at the waist, then at the neck, of her dress, trying to make it fit at least comfortably; she isn’t succeeding. “Josie.” The elf takes Josephine’s hands, drawing her lover’s attention, and gives a slight squeeze. “Didn’t your mother say you’ll need new clothes soon?”

“Well, _yes_ , but surely I can wait a bit –”

“If you keep putting it off, one day you won’t fit at all.”

“ _Ellana_.”

In the face of Josephine’s ire, the Inquisitor rapidly backtracks. “I just mean that there’s no way the child will continue to fit in the waistlines of your current clothes! They were tailor-made to fit _you_ , right?” She tries a winning smile.

Apparently it works, because after a moment the frown melts off Josephine’s face. “Very well. I suppose I shall have to contact a boutique in Val Royeaux, arrange transport to Skyhold –”

“Why not just go _to_ Val Royeaux?” Ellana interrupts, cocking her head quizzically. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“I can’t leave the Inquisition for so long, what if –”

“Josie, isn’t that why we hired an aide? Think of it as a good test-run for him. And we can have Leliana keep an eye on him too…” Ellana can see Josephine weakening, so she pushes her advantage. “Besides, if we go together, then after you get your new wardrobe we can look for items for the baby!”

“Well, we do need to begin our preparations.” The Ambassador ponders the idea for a minute longer – as Ellana holds her breath in anticipation – before nodding. “Very well. But only because you presented such a convincing argument, my darling. I shall talk to Leliana today about making the arrangements.” She leans forward to give Ellana a chaste kiss, withdrawing when her love attempts to deepen the contact and placing a finger on the elf’s lips. “Ah ah. I still must meet a tailor soon, or I fear I shall not be presentable by the time we leave.”

* * *

Ellana does not _like_ Val Royeaux – it is loud and pungent and an overwhelming clash of colors – but somehow she finds that with Josephine beside her it is tolerable. The last time she had escorted the Ambassador through Orlais’s capital, their business had been much more urgent; even after the House of Repose was taken care of there was still so much to do, a world to save. But now – now she can relax as they walk hand-in-hand through the marketplace, Josephine pointing out this shop and that, ones recommended by friends, ones she has patroned before.

Josephine has scheduled out three weeks of freedom for them – two and a half for travel, and the remaining few days for their excursion – and Ellana is glad she convinced Josephine to come to Val Royeaux now; her need for a new wardrobe is becoming more apparent by the day. Their first stop is Madame Bisette’s Boutique, which comes recommended to them by the elder Lady Montilyet. Ellana isn’t fond of the fussing that goes into choosing and fitting clothes – Vivienne and Josephine had all but pinned her to a wall in order to get the Inquisition uniform for the Winter Palace fitted – but resolves to grin and bear it for Josephine.

It turns out to be easier than she expected; Josephine is obviously experienced at picking and choosing cloth and cuts that she prefers, and the so-called Madame Bisette is adept with needle, thread, and measure. They leave with three outfits already fitted – a tad loose at the waist, so that she may wear them longer – to Josephine’s figure, and the promise that further clothing for the upcoming months will be finished, save for the final adjustments to be made when Josephine begins wearing the garments, within the next few days. Exactly how the seamstress plans to accomplish that Ellana isn’t sure, but she’s more than willing to escort Josephine away and back to their rooms in the house that Leliana has insisted they stay at.

It doesn’t take any effort to convince Josephine into a light lunch before they head back out; the diplomat’s appetite has picked up substantially over the last few weeks. Ellana lingers over the plates, trying to postpone the inevitable, but Josephine draws her out once more with promises of a visit to the University’s gardens, and the elf finds she can’t say no.

Their first stop is the bed store Ellana had stumbled into by accident during her initial exploration of Val Royeaux. The proprietor hadn’t been pleased to see her then – after all, the Inquisition wasn’t well known and she was still being decried as the killer of the Divine – but now, with Josephine on her arm and dressed in fine clothes, she is welcomed in with smiles and bows.

“My ladies, you honor us with your presence in our humble business,” the Orlesian begins, and Ellana tunes out the rest of his fawning greeting. She’ll never get accustomed to the groveling her position and fame seem to inspire; she’d much rather be back at Skyhold where everyone is familiar and friendly and _not_ servile. Josephine is smiling and nodding, making the appropriate remarks back to the man, so the elf feels comfortable with slipping away to start looking around the shop.

There are plush beds and wide beds and even tiered beds – which she approves of as a good space-saver – scattered around the edges of the store, but none of the barred little beds that Josephine has described to her. She rejoins her love just in time to hear the proprietor say “our apologies, my lady, but we have found that most noble families prefer to ah…pass on their furniture to the next generation. We have no cradles immediately available.”

“Then it is fortunate the cradle will not be immediately required, is it not?” Josephine counters, one hand coming to rest against her slightly swollen abdomen. The man’s gaze follows her gesture, and his eyes widen in understanding. Ellana doesn’t want to know what the man had thought of them before, if he wasn’t aware of Josephine’s condition until just now.

“Ah! Of course, my lady!” And suddenly the air of resistance that had been surrounding the man – when had that come about? It must have been after she left the conversation, when Josephine first asked about the cradles – vanishes, leaving a merchant eager to make a sale.

Ellana tries to follow the rest of the details – and she _is_ able to understand the arrangements of delivery and materials – but when the talk turns to construction and detailing and dimensions, she is lost. So the Inquisitor simply stands there, one hand gripping Josephine’s with fingers entwined, and lets the words drift over her as she nods along absently. If Josephine needs her she’s right here, but otherwise she is glad to let her lover handle the arrangements.

Finally, Josephine thanks the man and turns to leave, and Ellana snaps her focus back to the present. The babble that immediately assaults her ears as they step outside is _almost_ enough reason to escape back into the shop, but she turns to Josephine instead. “Where to next, ma sa’lath?”

It is evening by the time they have finished acquiring – ordering, to be delivered to Skyhold on one of the numerous caravans coming and going – a rocking chair and a clothespress for the child, and Ellana is _tired_. But when she turns towards their lodgings, Josephine gives her that bright – _real_ – smile that she loves so much and asks, “Didn’t you want to see the gardens, my love?” and suddenly lying down doesn’t hold nearly as much appeal.

The University gardens are completely, _utterly_ , worth the trip. When they draw close to the wrought iron gates leading into the University grounds, the guards stationed there bow the two women in without a fuss. There is a riot of colorful blooms bordering the entrance patio, and Ellana releases Josephine’s hand to examine the flowers, checking stems, leaves, and petals, reveling in the _discovery_. She has found wildflowers and herbs alike all throughout Thedas and she enjoys them all, but there is something about these cultivated flowers that pull at her, just _asking_ to be admired in their beauty and uniqueness.

She drifts from wide blue blooms with thin petals, to golden bushes rising tall, to large lemon-yellow flowers, to tight clusters of small red blossoms. She loses herself in the scents and textures of the different plants, in examining their stems and leaves, until the rustle of cloth expands her awareness once more. _Oops_. Ellana turns around to see a _very_ amused Josephine grinning at her, arms crossed above her stomach and emphasizing its swell. “Ah…” the elf rubs one hand at the back of her neck, feeling a dull blush starting to creep up her neck. “Sorry Josie.”

“No need to apologize, my love.” Josephine’s voice is lilting as always, but now there is more than a hint of suppressed laughter tinging her words. “I knew what I was in for when I brought you here.” The diplomat moves forward to take Ellana’s free hand and interlace their fingers once more. “Now that you have thoroughly inspected the flora, my Lady Lavellan, would you be amenable to a romantic evening walk through the gardens?”

A smile tugs at the corners of Ellana’s lips as she gives an elegant bow – just as Josephine had taught her barely over a year ago. “Why Lady Montilyet, I do believe I can agree to such a pleasant request.”

* * *

When Josephine wakes her the next morning after dawn, Ellana is groggy and tired. Why is it that a day of shopping takes more energy out of her than fighting through hordes of demons or trekking rugged landscapes? The elf pushes herself upright with a groan, blinking blearily at her lover where she stands, already dressed, next to the bed with a cheery smile.

“Good morning, my darling.” Josephine’s voice is too full of energy for her current state, Ellana decides. Then the Antivan holds out her hands and says “Breakfast is ready, if you wish to join me,” and she is forgiven. Breakfast is a leisurely affair, with Ellana fighting – and winning – against the lure of sleep and Josephine making light conversation between sips of tea. By the time the food is gone, Ellana is fully awake and mentally braced for another day of shopping.

“Where are we going first, ma sa’lath?” Ellana asks as they step into the bright sunshine of the street. Her arm slips around Josephine’s waist, her hand curving against the swell of Josephine’s stomach, and she can’t help but internally rejoice when Josephine grins up at her and leans slightly into the embrace.

“I thought perhaps we could find the baby some clothes as well.” Josephine chuckles at Ellana’s grimace. “If we do this now, I will not have to subject you to another clothing trip for months.”

The elf attempts to pout for a moment longer, but can’t quite keep a straight face. “You know me too well, Josie.” She gives a theatrical sigh. “Very well, lead on.”

The clothing shop is just off the square, with people bustling in and out of stores on either side. Ellana balks for a moment at the crowds but, with Josephine’s hand firmly at the small of her back, she has no choice but to continue. The interior is less busy, thank the Creators, with only a few customers browsing the neatly folded stacks of fabric; the piles even have little labels in front, describing roughly what age range the clothes would fit. Maybe this visit won’t be so bad.

Josephine draws her over to the tables along the left wall, where the youngest aged clothes are arrayed. There aren’t many folded garments on the table, but why would they need many for a baby? It’s not as though they go and roll around in the mud or anything. The worst that could happen is they spit up on themselves or the napkin leaks.

Ellana had told herself that she would simply go along with Josephine’s choices, but when her beloved picked up the first garment, a frilly affair with lace and bows and ribbons…“Josie, _please_ no” falls out of her mouth before she can stop.

“But ‘Lana, look at how _cute_ it is!” Josephine’s eyes are alight with discovery as she turns towards the elf. “It would be _darling_ on –” Josephine can no longer contain her mirth at Ellana’s increasingly horrified expression, and laughter bubbles out of her until she has to bend over to catch her breath – and Ellana has to catch _her_ when the Antivan nearly overbalances. “I’m –” another laugh, the hand with the offending garment clutching at her stomach, “– sorry, my love, but I could not resist.” A few more chuckles escape, causing Josephine to cling to Ellana’s arm for support.

“Josie, breathe,” Ellana admonishes sternly, although she can’t quite keep the smile from her voice. Yes, her pranking ways have _definitely_ rubbed off on Josephine. Most of the eyes in the store are on them, but the Inquisitor blocks them from her awareness as she helps Josephine straighten and puts both hands on her shoulders. “You weren’t really going to choose it, right?” When an immediate answer is not forthcoming, Ellana’s eyes widen. Please, Sylaise, no. “Right?”

“Well…” Josephine holds the – it looks like a dress, if Ellana is honest with herself – piece of clothing in the air and examines it critically. “It would be rather adorable, but…” a sigh, “I suppose it is a bit too much.” Ellana lets her shoulders sag in relief.

The rest of the clothes shopping passes without any other incidents and – Ellana is eternally grateful for this – Josephine makes an effort to choose tasteful, sparsely adorned, clothing. They don’t get many, just a few of the dress-like-outfits for the first few months, and then some small plain and embroidered tunics in bright colors. Then there are the napkins and small, light, blankets and the tiniest pairs of stockings she has ever seen in her life. But Ellana gamely holds out her arms to hold their purchases while Josephine settles with the proprietor. When she is done, the Antivan takes one look at the pile Ellana is carrying and says, “I think we shall have to stop at the house before we continue,” and the elf agrees with a vehement nod.

* * *

Ellana counts her blessings that the next shop Josephine guides them to isn’t in the main market; rather, it is in a quaint side street with open air craftsmen scattered along its length. Then they walk in and she isn’t so sure. There are carved wooden horses mounted on curved strips of wood, selections of leather balls of all sizes, painted wooden soldiers – some with the Inquisition’s insignia upon their breastplate, to her chagrin – boxes of marbles, a porcelain – _porcelain!_ – miniature tea set most definitely not made for adult hands…

“Josie,” Ellana turns to the other woman, who is looking around with nostalgia, “why are we here?”

It seems to take some effort for Josephine to turn her gaze from a child vigorously shaking a rattling stick and look at Ellana. “Our child will need toys, no?”

The elf stares blankly at her. ‘Toys’ are carved halla horn figures, sticks they find in the forest, occasionally a special treat of cloth and leather shaped by the clan’s craftmaster…not these strange items. Besides, even setting aside the cultural differences, she has never seen any of these objects around Skyhold with the children residing there. Surely she would have? Or is this yet another noble thing?

“Ellana?”

Josephine’s expression is full of concern, and Ellana makes an effort to smile. “Of course. Toys.” But she knows she isn’t convincing from the way Josephine studies her with that furrow between her brows.

“Ellana, we don’t have to do this now. Perhaps it would be better to wait a few more months?”

She is slightly ashamed at how relieved she feels at the suggestion, so Ellana can’t quite meet Josephine’s eyes as she nods her agreement. But as she turns to leave the store, she feels a warm hand grasp her own and give a reassuring squeeze – _Are you alright? –_ and she squeezes back; _I’m fine, I promise_.

Ellana relaxes fully once they are in the open air once more, feels the confusion and odd tightness in her chest and stomach slip away. Maybe later, once they have discussed what they each mean by ‘toy’, she can come back and find some. Perhaps that moving horse. _That_ is something she wishes the Dalish clans had crafted.

As she is turning to Josephine once more, to ask ‘What now?’, Ellana’s eye is caught by a ray of light bouncing off curved glass and drawn to follow; the source takes her breath away. There is a man sitting at a bench, close to an open furnace radiating waves of heat that she can see even from partway down the street, rolling a metal pole back and forth as he shapes what has to be the most beautifully tinted dragon she has ever seen. The piece is mostly done, spinning from where it is attached at the chest to the rod, as the man pulls and tugs at the tail with a pair of tongs, drawing spikes and etching scales with a few deft movements.

Her feet move without conscious thought, absently pulling Josephine along behind her. Her whole attention is fixed on the man as he moves steadily, curving the dragon’s tail with a gentle flick, raising the neck as it begins to droop, then standing up and walking to a slab of hardened clay and tapping the pole once – and the dragon simply _breaks off_. As a First, she has always been envious of the crafters of her clan, but now she has seen a master who could put them all to shame.

She stops a few feet away from the man and his dragon, content to simply admire the creation until the craftsman notices her. It doesn’t take long. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?” When he turns to face them, Ellana feels that something is _off_ , and it takes a moment to realize – unlike all the Orlesians she has seen today, he is not wearing a mask.

Just before the silence can creep on for too long, Josephine steps up next to Ellana with a bright smile – her ‘information gathering smile’, as Ellana calls it. “Maitre, are all of these pieces yours?” She gestures with a graceful hand to the many pieces of glass – Ellana was so enthralled by the dragon that she only notices them now that they are pointed out – hanging from the ceiling; mobiles, she remembers they are called. They are a beauty to watch when a breeze brushes past, sending the wooden slats they are suspended from swinging in gentle arcs.

“Yes, madame.” His gaze darts down to Josephine’s abdomen, then back to her face. “May I interest you in some of my work?”

“I believe we are already interested.” The Antivan notes the way Ellana’s attention has yet to leave the glass sculptures, and feels amusement threatening to bubble forth once more; there is no chance of them walking away without at least one piece. Then, an idea strikes. Releasing Ellana’s hand – which she doesn’t seem to notice – Josephine draws the craftsman away from the elf so she hopefully won’t overhear. “Do you perhaps have any glass halla?”

The man’s gaze skims his workplace briefly, but shakes his head after only a few seconds. “I do not believe I have ever tried to craft a halla, madame. Perhaps if I was provided with an example.”

Josephine draws out a few coins and shows them to the man. “If I were to procure you a model, could you create a mobile of halla?” She looks towards Ellana, who has moved forward and is tracing the curve of a bird’s wing with a grazing touch. “It is very important.”

He looks at the coins, at Ellana, at her earnest expression, then at the coins again, lips moving in silent calculation, as Josephine waits for his decision with bated breath. If he cannot do it, then they will no doubt buy another mobile, or maybe even that dragon Ellana is so taken with, but she wishes – and now that the idea has settled, she finds she cannot let it go – to surprise Ellana with a bit of the Dalish, of _home_ , especially after how uncomfortable she was earlier.

“Aye, I can do that.”

The man’s words are certain, and Josephine smiles brightly – happily – at him as she presses a few of the coins into his hands. “Could you arrange to have it delivered to the Inquisition at Skyhold? If not, I shall return, certainly, but…”

“I can do that,” he repeats, meeting her grin with his own. “Deliver it myself. Nice to see someone appreciate my work like that.” His head tilts in the direction of her love.

When they leave, it is with the promise of the tinted dragon being ready by the time they leave Orlais, and Ellana is practically bouncing down the street in joy. Josephine is not nearly as ebullient, but she is just as exultant with what they have accomplished today. She cannot _wait_ to see Ellana’s face when the mobile finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist describing the glassblowing a bit, since I took a class a couple years ago. It's so entrancing to watch, and even more amazing to _do_.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Month Five: Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana worries, Dagna makes good on her promise, and Josephine's body changes quicker than before.

**Month Five**

If Ellana thought that Josephine’s appetite had grown tremendously with the waning of her morning sickness, she was sorely mistaken. Her love’s voracity is rather terrifying, and the elf would be worried had Aeryn not informed them that it is completely normal. After all, the healer had reminded them, Josephine is eating for two, and the child is taking portions of the nutrients her body is used to keeping for itself.

Regardless, Ellana has quickly learned to keep a stock of fruit, pastries, or other small foods at Josephine’s desk for when the hunger pangs strike her lover – as well as a constant supply of Antivan candies, at Josephine’s request.

“Josie?” Ellana looks over her shoulder at the bed, where Josephine is sitting up with one hand resting against her stomach. Her love has taken to wearing a loose, light, short nightgown to bed now; the way it drapes over her body accentuates the growing of her womb in a way even nakedness cannot, and Ellana lets her eyes trace the curve of Josephine’s abdomen, watches as Josephine’s hand moves from cradling their child to stroking over her stomach soothingly. Then Josephine looks up, dark eyes meeting Ellana’s, and her breath catches; Mythal, she is _beautiful_. It takes a moment to remember her question. “What collation would you like at your desk today?”

The Antivan smiles at Ellana, shifting herself a little higher in the bed. “Some nut-stuffed pastries perhaps?” She rotates her body, letting her legs slide off the bed in preparation of standing up. “Only if you join me, of course.”

“Even a dragon couldn’t keep me away from those,” Ellana replies with a grin. She moves towards the desk in the corner, wanting to review some of the troop schedules Cullen gave her before their meeting today. Even with Corypheus gone, at least a couple new recruits show up every week, and they must continue to work the soldiers into the current patrols, so that –

“‘Lana?”

Her name is barely audible, and that has her attention snapping towards Josephine faster than anything else. The Antivan is standing, but one arm is reaching behind her as though feeling for a solid surface and she is _swaying_ and Ellana has rarely moved so fast as she does right then. Barely two seconds pass before her arm is wrapped around Josephine’s waist as she slips under the diplomat’s own arm to support her weight and lowers Josephine until she is sitting on the bed once more.

“Josephine?” Her face is pale, turning her normally healthy bronze complexion an ashy brown, and her gaze isn’t quite focused on the elf when she turns her head. “Ma sa’lath?” Her eyes are clearing and the color is returning to her cheeks the longer she sits, but Ellana refuses to let go of Josephine yet. Not when her heart is still thrumming.

“I’m sorry, ‘Lana.” Josephine averts her eyes, a flush beginning to creep up her neck. “It was just a moment of dizziness.” But she doesn’t move to pull away from the elf either; indeed, her free hand reaches for Ellana’s and grasps tightly.

“Are you still feeling dizzy? Is your head light? When did you last eat? It was at supper, yes?” Ellana fires off the questions rapidly, and Josephine nods or shakes her head accordingly. “Are you hungry now? Can I get you anything?” The way Josephine bites her lip is answer enough to that. “Wait here, ma sa’lath. I will be back in a moment.”

There are bowls of fruit out on the tables in the main hall, should any visitors feel hungry during the night, and Ellana makes haste to grab an apple. Josephine’s symptoms sound like what she herself has experienced when she hasn’t eaten for a day and moves too quickly, but the Inquisitor _will_ be paying a visit to Aeryn the moment Josephine is at work. Maybe then her nerves will finally settle.

She is only gone for five minutes, but Ellana returns to see Josephine standing, mostly dressed, by the bed, one hand resting on the headboard in case she needs to brace herself. She looks steady though, and Ellana crosses the room to press the apple into Josephine’s other hand. “Will you eat this? I promise it won’t spoil your breakfast.” Her teasing smile is met with an answering laugh from Josephine, and Ellana relaxes slightly. Nonetheless, she will be keeping another stash of food up here in their room as well, just in case.

She sees Josephine safely to her office – resisting the urge to fuss over the Antivan as they descend the stairs – before heading straight outside to the healer’s residence. She raps twice on the door before immediately entering, mouth already open to ask her question – to an empty room. A bit of frustration mixed with disappointment courses through her, and Ellana resolves to simply sit and wait; Aeryn will be back soon enough.

It is thirty minutes – and the Inquisitor has taken to creating shaped pieces of ice then melting them in the heat of her hand to pass the time – before the healer returns, arms full of fresh herbs she must have just bought. She places her bundles down and turns to Ellana with a frown. “My Lady Inquisitor? What are you doing here?”

The elf lets the last piece of ice disappear, water pooling in her hand for a moment before it evaporates. “Josephine almost fell today,” she begins without preamble. “She stood up and then she got dizzy and almost fell.”  She looks up at the healer, features taut with concern. “Is this normal? Can we…I don’t know, stop it somehow?”

“Ah.” Aeryn’s own lack of worry soothes Ellana’s nerves. “It is not at all different from when you stand up too quickly after having been wounded. Lady Josephine gives her blood to the babe as well; she must move slower when standing and sitting, so her body can keep up.”

“Oh.” The elf rubs at the back of her neck, feeling slightly embarrassed about her over-reaction. She just…it is all new, and she wants Josephine and their child to be alright. “I, ah…I was going to keep some food in our room as well, in case it was from hunger. But maybe not.”

The healer shrugs. “It couldn’t hurt. I’m sure Lady Josephine will thank you for it, should she get hungry at night. And she will, if she has not already.”

“As you say.” Ellana stands, much more relaxed now that her worries have been eased. “Are there any other surprises I should be aware of?”

“Well,” Aeryn’s smile is mischievous, “I believe Lady Josephine will have something to share with you soon. Nothing to be concerned about, however.”

* * *

Josephine is sitting at her desk, as she does every day, working on the latest trade negotiations with Antiva, when her door is pushed open with a ceremonious “enter the procession!” She looks up, frowning, as Dorian saunters into the room, followed by Dagna hefting a square, cloth-covered, and plush-looking piece of furniture. The Tevene gestures grandly at her, one of his knowing smirks lighting up his face. “My dear Lady Montilyet, may I present the fruits of months of labor, crafted solely for your comfort?”

Dagna gives a grunt of effort as she places her burden on the floor before standing straight once more and dusting her hands. “Yeah!” Then she turns and looks through the doorway once more. “Where’s the rest run off to?”

“We’re – oof – here,” comes a strained voice from the entrance; the Iron Bull backs into the room, followed by another, larger, piece of furniture and the owner of the voice. The pair take a few more steps before Ellana says “down,” and they lower their cargo slowly until it rests on four sturdy legs. The Inquisitor wipes at her forehead with one arm as she sends a cheerful grin at her love. “Hi Josie.”

The Ambassador has crossed her arms at some point during the commotion, fingers tapping against her upper arm in mild exasperation; now one eyebrow lifts in reproof as the four turn their attention to her. “Am I to understand you wish to rearrange my office?” She receives two nods from the women, Dorian ignores the question, and Bull simply shrugs. “Must we do this now?” After a moment, she answers her own question with a resigned sigh. “Of course we must.”

“Now, Ambassador, think of how much your productivity will increase once we are done,” Dorian wheedles as he steps up to her desk. He deftly gathers up the papers Josephine had been reviewing before she was so thoroughly interrupted and extends his free hand. “If you would come this way.”

Josephine bites back another sigh, knowing that even if she tries, getting any work done while the four are in her office will be near impossible. “Very well.” She stands up – slowly, as she has been cautioned – and follows the mage over to the two chairs placed in front of her fireplace, Dorian elegantly seating himself as he waves at her to sit as well. Behind them, she hears Dagna directing Ellana and Bull to move her old chair out of the way – “stick it in that hall over there or something. Ooh, maybe the Ambassador’ll let me have it to tinker with!” – and resists the urge to bury her face in her hands.

“There, there, Ambassador. We’ll keep our Arcanist from going too crazy on your diplomatic throne.” Listening to the Qunari’s grunt – and appreciatively watching his muscles strain – as he hefts the chair, Dorian grins. “Maybe we’ll simply refuse to move it; although, in retrospect, I doubt that would do much to deter her…”

Josephine decides to ignore the goings-on around her as much as she is able, for the sake of her sanity. She manages to focus on the treaties in her lap for the most part, only rereading some sentences four or five times as she hears grunts, huffs, and debates from the direction of her desk. Of course, not everything can be ignored, especially when it is close-by.

“Oi, are you just going to sit there, or are you going to help, kadan?” Bull’s voice is raised to carry, and from the corner of her eye, Josephine sees Dorian shift in his chair and smirk.

“No, I’m testing out the furniture. After all, we must make certain it is suitable for our dear Ambassador.”

“You know that _isn’t_ the furniture we’re moving –”

“– I wasn’t aware whatsoever –”

“– And Lady Ruffles is sitting in it _right now_.”

Josephine hears an exasperated sigh, mostly blocked by the Qunari’s bulk, and gives up trying to work for the moment. The group is too loud. She turns her head in time to see Ellana straighten behind the desk, where she has just placed down the footstool. “Just let him be, Bull. This’ll get done faster without him anyways.”

The mage stiffens. “I resent that!”

Ellana sticks out her tongue at the man and Josephine giggles at the childish gesture, earning herself a pout from Dorian as he huffs and turns his back on the Inquisitor. “Lady Montilyet, you’re supposed to _support_ me against these cretins, not indulge them!”

“Oh, hush it. We’ll need you and your wounded pride over here in a second anyways.” The quip is followed by a grunt as Ellana and Bull heft the chair once more – it looks smaller than her previous seat, but quite possibly more comfortable and moveable. It was getting hard to settle herself properly to write correspondence when she couldn’t scoot any closer to her desk – and lug it around to its new place.

The moment the chair is lowered, Dagna is there, fussing at…something. “Ambassador! I need you for some fine-tuning, please?”

Josephine raises an eyebrow at Ellana, who is standing next to the dwarf; her love simply shrugs in response. Ah well. The sooner this is finished, the sooner she can go back to getting her work done. It is slightly harder to lever herself out of this chair, and Josephine finds that she has to scoot forward until she sits on the edge before she can escape its grasp. Of course, Dorian immediately notices her plight and offers a hand, but she waves him away. The day will come when she needs assistance to leave a chair, but it is not this day.

When she rounds the desk, Josephine is rather taken aback by how _normal_ the chair looks in its current position. Yes she had asked Ellana to keep an eye on the Arcanist’s experimental tendencies, but she hadn’t been at all confident in its execution. The chair is stained wood with elegant carvings along the sides, a rather plush pillowing along its seat, back, and on the armrests. It actually looks quite comfortable, and not at all dissimilar to a regular chair. “What makes it different?”

“You’ll see!” Dagna is practically vibrating with excitement, and Dorian and Bull join Josephine in her examination of the chair; only Ellana has a knowing grin, since she had been the project’s supervisor. “Take a seat, Ambassador.” The Arcanist gestures grandly – reminiscent of Dorian’s opening arm sweep when he disturbed her afternoon – to the chair, and Josephine does so. The cushioning is indeed as comfortable as she suspected, although the chair’s back seems a bit far…

“Don’t worry about sitting all the way back.” It’s as though Dagna reads her mind. “Just at a distance where you’re comfortable writing. I’ll do the rest!” So Josephine moves the chair closer to the desk, shifting until she is mostly on the seat, her feet firmly on the floor. It is already better than her previous positioning, but without any back-support, she knows she will be in pain by the end of the day.

There isn’t a single sound to alert her to Dagna’s adjustments – she feels a light pressure against her back out of nowhere, one that increases until she is fully leaning against the backrest of her chair, which appears to have _moved_. Unique indeed. “What do you think, Ambassador?”

Josephine shifts experimentally, trying to scoot further into the chair’s embrace, and failing. “If you would move it back a bit, Dagna?” The Arcanist obliges, and Josephine smiles. “I quite like it. You outdid yourself; thank you.”

Dagna’s grin could light up a room. “Now for the rest of the adjustments. If you would stand up, Lady Montilyet?”

Dagna has her switch between sitting and standing multiple times – as Ellana hovers nearby; her love is still cautiously protective when she changes position, apparently – making tweaks here, alterations there, ensuring she can move the chair as she wishes, that she knows where the wheel to adjust the back is…until Ellana steps in. “Okay, Dagna. I think we’re done here.” It is to the Arcanist’s credit that she doesn’t try to wheedle out one more adjustment. So Josephine sits in her new chair for the last time as Dagna positions the footstool – she had forgotten about that – under her desk, where she can use it should she feel the need, but it doesn’t interfere with her work. Quite thoughtful.

Ellana waves out ‘the help’, Dorian quizzing Dagna as they leave, “Do you think you could make one of those for me? It would certainly be of great comfort –” so that she and Josephine are left alone in the Ambassador’s office. The elf walks over to fetch the treaties Josephine had previously been working on as the diplomat watches, picking up the papers and straightening them as she returns to the desk.

“So, do you like it?” There is a shy smile on Ellana’s face, one that brings an odd flutter in her abdomen; Josephine brings her hand to the swell of her stomach, rubbing at the spot absently, but the feeling is already gone.

“I do like it, very much,” she answers, relaxing fully into the chair. It seems to cradle her torso, letting her rest against the cushioning without the worry of soreness later. “As long as Dagna didn’t add in any little surprises of her own, that is.”

Her love chuckles, skirting the desk to stand next to Josephine and resting a hand on the back of the chair. “Don’t worry. I checked it over, twice, before I agreed to bring it up. It’s safe.”

“You are quite thoughtful.” Josephine reaches up, tugging Ellana down for a brief kiss, one that deepens as Ellana shifts so one hand is braced on the armrest of the chair, and the other rests lightly on Josephine’s growing abdomen. It takes effort to pull away, but Josephine manages after a minute, breaking the contact and lowering one hand to cover Ellana’s. “I love you, and I shall see you this evening. But for now, my darling, I really must get back to work. I have lost enough of the day as it is.”

Ellana pouts, but can’t argue with that statement – it is, after all, how she got the other three to leave. “This evening then. I love you too, ma sa’lath.” She steals one last kiss – Josephine laughing into the brief contact – and leaves, shutting the door behind her, as the diplomat settles back into her work for the afternoon.

* * *

Josephine is reading in bed, Ellana curled up beside her and reviewing the latest reports from Leliana, when she feels that strange sensation again. It is like butterflies in her stomach, but lower than those of nervousness; besides, she hasn’t been nervous like that in _years_. Aeryn had mentioned nearly a month ago that she should start to feel the baby moving soon, but since she hadn’t…well. As she shifts, the flutters come again, brushing low in her abdomen. Her hand automatically comes up to cover the spot, pushing down on the firm curve of her stomach, and the movements stop.

The next afternoon she feels them again; tiny, quick, movements inside her, this time higher up, and she _knows_ it is the baby. But again, when she moves her hand to rest on the swell, the sensations cease, and don’t come back for the rest of the day.

It is evening on the fifth day since the movements started when they come again; Ellana is sitting on the side of the bed, oiling the wood of her staff, when Josephine calls out to her softly. “My love, can I borrow you a moment?”

“Sure, Josie.” The mage leans her staff against the headboard, wipes at her oily hands with a rag as she turns. “What do you need?”

Josephine takes Ellana by the wrist, resting the elf’s hand feather-light against the swell of her abdomen as her love looks on curiously. The flutterings continue under Ellana’s hand, and Josephine smiles. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?” Ellana is confused, her gaze switching between her hand and Josephine’s content expression. “Josie, what is it?”

Josephine’s smile grows, until she knows she looks foolish with happiness. “The quickening. I can feel the baby quickening.”

The flutterings stop as Ellana’s hand pushes more firmly against her stomach, but Josephine doesn’t care in light of the joy that comes to her lover’s expression. “What does it feel like? How long have you felt it? How long do you think before _I_ can feel it?” Ellana withdraws her hand and replaces it with her ear, resting her head against the cloth separating her from Josephine’s skin.

The Antivan laughs, the movement jostling Ellana slightly, and one hand comes down to card through her beloved’s hair as she lays there with an expectant expression. “It may be a while yet, my darling. The baby isn’t strong enough yet; I have only felt the movement for the last five days.”

Ellana’s lips purse into a pout, but her eyes can’t stop smiling as she turns her head to press a kiss to the swell separating them from their growing child. “Soon, da’len. Try to get strong soon, yes? I cannot wait to feel you moving.”

Needless to say, not much else gets done that night – or for the next few nights – as Ellana waits patiently for Josephine to announce the baby’s movements, content to hear what Josephine feels until she can experience it for herself.

* * *

Ellana walks into Josephine’s office in the early afternoon to see her love dozing upright, one hand still holding her quill with the tip resting against a growing splotch of ink, and sighs. She had _thought_ it was harder to wake Josephine up that morning, and had noticed the diplomat sneezing, coughing, and generally sounding mildly congested for the past day or so; now, with this latest piece of evidence, it is official. Josephine is most definitely ill.

She crosses the room on quiet feet, padding over to stand behind her lover and peek over her shoulder; a loopy scrawl of ink traces backwards from the spreading blot, and if she squints and tilts her head sideways, it _maybe_ looks like words. The elf muffles a sigh as she reaches out one hand, shaking Josephine’s shoulder gently to rouse her. “Josie…”

The diplomat starts, hand jerking on the page and creating another trail of ink on the already ruined page. “I was awake!” is the first phrase out of her mouth – a damning assertion if Ellana has ever heard one – but before she can challenge her love’s claim, Josephine’s breath catches and she falls into a painful-sounding coughing fit, the bursts of air tearing at her throat. One hand gropes for a handkerchief as the other clenches spasmodically around the quill, and Ellana is quick to relieve the diplomat of the writing implement to prevent any more ink splatters; the move earns her a grateful hand-wave before yet another series of coughs cause Josephine to turn away, handkerchief pressed over her mouth.

Originally, Ellana was simply going to suggest Josephine take a nap and then resume her work, but as the coughs continue to push their way out of Josephine’s chest, she changes her mind. Clearly Josephine needs to be up in bed, resting.

Of course, she has to wait until the fit is over, so Josephine can actually hear her.

Once she is certain the last spasm has passed – Josephine is leaning against the back of her chair, trying to catch her breath – Ellana puts the quill down on the table and crosses her arms; she has to stand firm, if she wants Josephine to listen to her. “Josie, you’re done for the day.”

The diplomat’s eyes, which have fallen closed, snap open to glare at Ellana. “I am not!” Her voice is raspy, and she clears her throat – painfully, from the wince that plays across her features – before speaking again. “I am still quite capable of working for the rest of the day.”

Ellana raises an eyebrow, one hand gesturing at the letter Josephine had been attempting to draft earlier. “Ma sa’lath, do you really think you’re accomplishing any work at the moment?”

Josephine’s gaze follows the movement down to the parchment, and her cheeks flush a dull red when she sees the illegible scrawls. It takes a moment, but Ellana is rewarded with an embarrassed acquiescence, Josephine avoiding her gaze as she reluctantly nods her agreement. “Very well.” Of course, as the Antivan stands, pushing back her chair and rising slowly, she adds one condition. “But only if you promise to have the aide deal with the rest of these letters. They really must get done.” Ellana is more than willing agree to that request, as long as it gets Josephine upstairs and in bed.

She brings supper up to their rooms that evening; Josephine insists she is feeling better, that the coughing has abated, and that tomorrow she will be fine to return to work. Ellana agrees with a shrug, watching as Josephine picks at the food in front of her. Her love must not have been often sick, the elf decides, because otherwise she would understand how unlikely that statement is. But she nods when Josephine announces that she is going to retire early, believing that a good night’s sleep is all she needs to recover; the sleep certainly won’t hurt, and maybe Josephine is correct.  

The next morning, Ellana is sorry to have been right. Josephine is still asleep beside her, though the sun has already risen; the diplomat is usually up with the dawn, even with the baby sapping her energy. Her love is nestled against her, warm back pressing against Ellana’s side, and the elf can hear the slightly labored breathing that accompanies nasal and chest congestion.

Ellana sits up, feeling Josephine shift next to her and hearing a sleepy murmur, and leans over to wake Josephine with a kiss on the cheek. Her lover stirs at the touch, eyes fluttering open for a moment, before her breath catches and a series of coughs push out of her chest. Josephine visibly shudders with each successive burst, reflexively curling around her stomach, one arm cradling the swell protectively, as her body spasms.

Ellana throws off the blankets as Josephine coughs, swiftly rounding the bed to kneel in front of where the Antivan is laying on her side. “Josie?” One hand strokes up and down Josephine’s arm where it is still wrapped over her stomach, feeling the tense muscles under her fingers. “Josie, promise me you won’t work today.”

There is no fight in Josephine’s eyes, only a resigned weariness framed by tears of pain, as the diplomat nods tiredly. “I promise.” Her voice is rough again, and the congestion that has taken up residence in her sinuses blurs her words.

Ellana leans forward to press a kiss to her love’s forehead, glad when the skin feels cool beneath her lips. No fever. “I’ll be up in a bit with some breakfast, okay? Some tea and oatmeal with honey.” She feels Josephine’s nod and, when she pulls back to stand, sees her turn over and cuddle into the warmth she had left behind under the blankets.

The kitchens are very sympathetic when she tells the cooks what she wants and why, and it is only twenty minutes before Ellana heads back up the stairs to their rooms with a laden tray in her arms. Josephine sits up when she comes in with the tray; she must have left the bed at some point during Ellana’s absence, because a clean handkerchief is now clasped between the fingers of one hand.

Ellana pulls the desk chair over to the bed, placing the tray on the seat in easy reach as she sits on the blankets at Josephine’s feet; the diplomat immediately reaches for the tea, and Ellana stifles a laugh at the familiar movement. “Josie, Cassandra wants to speak with me about something to do with the Seekers. I’ll be back with dinner. Promise me you’ll get some rest?” Josephine looks up from the teacup cradled in her hands and nods before turning her attention back to the steaming liquid, and this time Ellana can’t suppress her laugh. “And don’t forget to eat.” The elf stands, pressing another kiss to Josephine’s forehead as her love looks up once more at the movement. “I love you. Hamin, ma sa’lath.”

When she climbs the stairs again around noon, a bowl of soup – pressed on her by the cook, with the promise that ‘it will help Lady Montilyet to recover her appetite’ – on another tray, it is with the hope that Josephine is taking a nap. Alas, it is not to be. She enters their suite to see a _very_ miserable Josephine curled up in a nest of blankets, the Antivan raising her head and blinking blearily at Ellana as she approaches the bed.

“‘Lana?” Josephine’s voice is low and scratchy as she shifts to sit up more fully, blankets falling from her shoulders at the movement to pool around her abdomen, accenting its curve. “Do you have any more tea?”  

Ellana places the tray on the same chair as before – someone must have come and collected the previous dishes while she was gone, and she makes a mental note to send a note of appreciation to the kitchens – with a smile. “I do. But soup first, Josie.” The diplomat pouts, but accepts the steaming bowl when Ellana presses it into her hands. “How are you feeling?”

Josephine makes a face before blowing on the first spoonful of soup and sipping at the hot liquid. “Miserable. The babe won’t settle, so I can’t even sleep the day away.” She gives a muffled cough, Ellana quickly taking the bowl so the soup doesn’t spill as her body shakes. One brown hand drops to the top of Josephine’s stomach, rubbing at the spot. “I think our little one is turning somersaults in there.” Ellana reaches forward as well, letting her hand rest just below Josephine’s. It has been two weeks since their child began to move, and she hopes that maybe –

There is the tiniest fluttering underneath her fingertips, a brief pushing against the skin before it fades away. Ellana gasps, looking up at Josephine with wide eyes, afraid to move her hand lest the movements stop completely. “Josie, was that – did you feel that?”

Josephine nods, a smile spreading over her lips – just before another harsh coughing fit shakes her body. Ellana feels abdominal muscles tighten underneath her hand as Josephine coughs and coughs again, trying to catch her breath. They subside quickly this time, and Josephine’s hand covers Ellana’s apologetically. “‘Lana…”

“Don’t worry, ma sa’lath.” Ellana withdraws her hand, catching Josephine’s own and giving it a squeeze. “There will be other times.” She leans over to grab an item off the tray – a book, given to her by Leliana with the suggestion that she pass it on to Josephine, because a bored Josephine is a dangerous thing. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the title then; now, she reads the cover and smiles. Trust Leliana. “Josie, I believe our Spymaster has been up to nefarious plots once again.”

At Josephine’s quizzical look, she shows her the book; the Antivan flips through the pages quickly, fingers tracing familiar words as her lips move, silently reciting phrases she has heard long ago. Ellana scoots closer, her shoulder brushing against Josephine’s as she scans the titles of the Antivan and Orlesian children’s stories of Josephine’s childhood. She has a vague recollection of hearing the Keeper telling an expectant mother to talk to her child, because hearing a parent’s voice calms the baby. “Perhaps you could read them aloud? Maybe then the babe will settle.”

Josephine gives her a _look_ , and Ellana remembers exactly why Josephine is stuck in bed in the first place. Oops. “Or I could read them?” she offers quickly, sighing in relief when the Antivan’s eyes soften as she nods her agreement. She scoots closer to her beloved and wraps one arm supportively around her waist; Josephine leans into her embrace with a contented sigh as Ellana opens the book to the first page and traces a finger down the list of titles. “Which would you like to hear first?” Weary eyes scan over the titles until the Antivan picks one, finger tapping twice on the name to indicate her choice as she suppresses a yawn, and Ellana smiles. “As you wish.” She takes a breath, channeling the lilting cadences of the storyteller from her childhood. “‘There was once a bard from Montsimmard…’”

That night, Ellana returns from fetching one last pot of tea – to be kept warm over the fire in their chambers, should Josephine need any during the night – and crawls into bed next to Josephine. She can tell that her love is tired, but something is keeping her from sleep, and she has an idea what it is. “Ma sa’lath, is the babe restless again?”

Josephine nods despondently; the movements of their child are wonderful and treasured when they _aren’t_ keeping her from much-needed sleep, and when she doesn’t already feel bad enough without her insides jumping about. Luckily, Ellana has an idea. She shifts Josephine until the Antivan is lying next to her, head cradled in Ellana’s lap as one hand strokes through her hair and caresses her scalp, once more coaxing a contented sigh from Josephine. In response, Josephine takes the elf’s free hand, placing it on the curve of her stomach and pressing her own hand over top. When she feels Ellana’s movements pause for a moment, Josephine answers the unspoken question. “Your touch and your voice…they are a comfort. Can you not feel the babe slowing?”

There are the mildest of movements beneath her palm, and Ellana feels a soft smile steal across her lips. Unbidden, words begin to fall, a lullaby from long ago, one that always meant safety and contentment to her as a child.

_Elgara vallas, da’len_  
_Melava somniar_  
_Mala tara aravas_  
_Ara ma’desen melar_

_Iras ma ghilas, da’len_  
_Ara ma’nedan ashir_  
_Dirthara lothlenan’as_  
_Bal emma mala dir_

_Tel’enfenim, da’len_  
_Irassal ma ghilas_  
_Ma garas mir renan_  
_Ara ma’athlan vhenas_  
_Ara ma’athlan vhenas_

As she sings, she hears Josephine’s breathing slow, feels the flutters underneath her palm fade away, and knows her voice has led them into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby at the end is from the wonderful little book that accompanied Thedas Vol 2; it's on the Elven language wiki page too, if you want to see the translation! http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language
> 
> Also sorry if the last bit was a tad rough - I went over it for two hours with a friend, writing and rewriting sentences. Hopefully they read smoothly.
> 
> PS - I put a LotR reference in here!


	8. Month Six: Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine knows what she wants, and Ellana learns to go along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so sorry_ this took so long! I got...distracted, with another piece. But now I finished the chapter! So have an extra long one as my apology...

**Month Six**

Josephine gives an exhausted sigh as she lays back on the bed – though she immediately has to switch to her side, because the weight of the baby makes it so very hard to breathe when it pushes down on her diaphragm – and stretches her legs, making a face when cramped muscles pull in protest. “‘Lana, remind me to thank Dagna again for the footstool she crafted.” It really is a saving grace throughout the day, when her feet start tingling and going numb and her calves seize up; she can rest her feet on the footstool to straighten her legs and restore the blood flow, as well as being able to – barely – reach her lower legs to massage the knotted muscles. Without it, the day would be nigh unbearable.

Warm hands run over her legs, the heat seeping into her skin, and Josephine sighs again, this time in pleasure and relief. Ellana grins up at her from where she sits at the foot of the bed, shifting until she is sitting perpendicular to Josephine and can shift the Antivan’s legs across her lap. “Who said it was Dagna’s idea?” the mage teases as she strips Josephine of her stockings, working the silk gently down her legs and baring them to the cool air. She feels goosebumps start to pop up on her skin, little prickles that don’t distract from the pain of her muscles, until the warmth returns with Ellana’s hands once more. “What if it was mine?” She begins focusing on one of Josephine’s calves, thumbs digging into the cramping muscles gently and moving in small circles.

Josephine opens her eyes and lifts her head from where it has fallen against the pillows, propping herself up on one elbow so she can pin her lover with a wry stare. “Ellana.” At the elf’s unrepentant grin, she sighs and flops back down onto the bed, other arm coming up to cover her eyes as she relaxes once more. “If the footstool was truly your idea, then Cassandra is secretly a wordsmith.”

That startles a bark of laughter from the Inquisitor, and Josephine smiles as she feels those warm, firm, hands pause for a moment before resuming their soothing massage; Ellana isn’t the only one who can tease. A comfortable silence falls over the room as Ellana continues to knead her calves; Josephine can feel her muscles slowly relaxing under the ministrations, and she sinks deeper into the mattress. “‘Lana, you’re a miracle-worker.”

“Why thank you.” The elf leans forward to place a kiss against the side of Josephine’s knee, and her leg jerks in automatic response to the ticklish feeling. “But you’ll have to get up now.”

She shifts her arm, conceding the comforting blackness in favor of squinting one eye at her lover. “Why?” It comes out on an uncharacteristic whine, but she really is _comfortable_ and moving requires energy, which she really doesn’t think she has after a long day. Honestly, she had rather been looking forward to falling asleep in the next few minutes, day clothes be damned.

“Well, I can’t really give you a back massage while you’re lying on the bed, so…”

Oh, but that does sound wonderful; after much practice, Ellana has become a master at finding the knots of tension that build up in her back, especially at the base of her spine over these last few months as her stomach continues to expand upwards and out. Some days she feels as though she has swallowed a boulder whole, and she is only going to continue to grow. If she hadn’t seen her mother’s pregnancies with her four younger siblings, Josephine is sure she wouldn’t be able to imagine how large she will get.

Josephine groans, but props herself up on the bed and scoots herself over to the edge – where Ellana is now standing, hands held out in an offering of aid, should she need it – with a bit of effort. The size of the babe is enough to make standing difficult, especially when sitting on a soft, giving surface as she is now, and Josephine doesn’t feel like fighting against gravity this late in the day; she gratefully grasps Ellana’s hands, letting her beloved pull her upright in one easy move.

Her current outfit has a line of buttons down the back and she turns around so Ellana’s deft fingers can undo them, letting the dress slip off her shoulders until the fabric has parted enough that she can draw it over her head. She is left in a light chemise over her smallclothes and customary cinch – she is _also_ grateful for Aeryn’s suggestion, otherwise, as with the footstool, she would be in much more pain than she is now – as Ellana takes the dress and lays it on the couch to be hung later; after a quick look at her love, Josephine also sheds the chemise and cinch. The easier access Ellana has to her back, the better she will feel at the end, even if she is cold in the meantime.

Clad only in her smalls and breastband, Josephine moves over to the simple, armless, chair Ellana had acquired for just this purpose, but is halted by the elf’s hand on her shoulder. “Just a moment, Josie.”

Curious, she waits, and smiles when Ellana picks up the chair, placing it in front of the fire instead. She is so considerate. The gesture earns her love a kiss, one that deepens as they stand there, one of Josephine’s hands resting on Ellana’s shoulder and the other cradling her stomach, until the elf steps back to break the contact. “If this continues, I won’t be held responsible for my actions, ma sa’lath.” Josephine pouts – an ember of warmth has been kindled low in her abdomen, and she doesn’t _want_ to stop, now – but sits down on the chair when Ellana gestures to it, straddling the seat and facing the back.

She is able to rest her arms on the top of the chair, padding her chin comfortably, as Ellana moves behind her, and she tenses for just a moment in anticipation of her lover’s touch; of course, those muscles relax a moment later when firm fingers begin pressing and kneading along her spine, under her shoulder blades, and paying special attention to the small of her back where the pain is most concentrated. The massage hurts almost as much as the tension, but it is a good pain, the type that means healing, so Josephine grits her teeth and bears it until the muscles finally unknot and the feelings turn to a sensual pleasure.

It is intriguing, feeling the baby move inside her as warm hands dance over her back; a juxtaposition of physical sensations that somehow reconcile into the emotion of _happiness_ clutching at her heart and heating her body from the core. A tiny foot pressing against her bladder has Josephine shifting uncomfortably, however, and the massage comes to an end as she straightens in her seat. Thankfully, that foot moves away as she stands, and the Antivan lets out a relieved breath as she turns to Ellana. “Have I mentioned recently how much I love you?”

A grin quirks Ellana’s lips as she takes Josephine’s hand, leading her over to the press where they keep their nightclothes. “Yes, but I certainly don’t mind hearing it again.”

It is maybe half an hour before they are settled in bed, Josephine sitting against the headboard as Ellana rests further down, her ear pressed to Josephine’s stomach as she listens to the baby’s heartbeat. Josephine must admit – only to herself, and only in the deepest recesses of her heart – that she is jealous of Ellana for being able to _hear_ their child, but she is the one who can feel every move the baby makes, and consoles herself with that. Well, that, and the knowledge that in the future, their positions will hopefully be reversed and she will be able to hear that thrumming sound under her own ear.

It is Josephine’s turn to tell the story tonight; ever since Leliana gifted them with the book of tales, she and Ellana have been alternating talking to their child at night, telling anecdotes from their families, bits lore from their cultures – discovering things about each other’s lives that they didn’t yet know. She can feel the baby shifting under the press of Ellana’s head against her abdomen, little flutters that brush against her uterus as light as butterfly wings.

As her voice rises, detailing a young Yvette’s indignation over the unfairness of having to continue her poetry lessons while ‘all the others get to have _fun_ ’, she feels the babe moving quicker, stronger, reacting to her tone, until there is a _thump_ against the front wall of her stomach and Ellana jolts up with the oddest expression on her face. She had just been kicked in the ear.

Josephine can’t continue her story: she is too busy giggling at the perturbed look her love is sending at her abdomen, her mirth only increasing when Ellana turns to pout at her instead. “Josie, our child just assaulted me!” When Josephine’s laughter continues to bubble out of her chest, showing no signs of stopping, Ellana’s pout morphs into disgruntlement and she grabs a spare pillow, brandishing it at Josephine. “If you don’t cease immediately, I shall show no mercy!”

Of course, this only causes Josephine to giggle harder, and she tries to defend herself against Ellana’s initial pillow strikes with her hands, deflecting the light blows towards the headboard. She manages to wiggle away from Ellana’s next attack, seizing the pillow that had been supporting her back as her own weapon and swinging it at Ellana’s waist. She makes contact at the same time Ellana hits her shoulder, but refuses to relent in her assault; as the elf draws back for another strike, Josephine tosses her pillow at Ellana’s face and, while her beloved is distracted with the projectile, moves in for the kill – tickling.

Her fingers dance along Ellana’s sides, poking and prodding at the spots she has found that make her lover squirm and twitch and drop whatever she is holding. Ellana tries to escape, but Josephine is unyielding, forcing the other woman to the bed and straddling her hips to keep her pinned, attacking until Ellana can’t catch her breath and she is helpless underneath the Antivan.

The sight of her lover, hair mussed, chest heaving, and completely at her mercy, has that ember of heat – still burning low in her abdomen – flaring once more; suddenly she _needs_ Ellana as desire burns through her veins. Her love must see the shift in her eyes, because she stops struggling to escape Josephine’s grasp and her eyes darken with want. But even as her hands move to grasp Josephine’s hips, she pauses, looking up at the diplomat. “Ma sa’lath, are you sure?”

Josephine raises herself slightly and tugs at Ellana’s shoulders until the elf is sitting up against the headboard with Josephine still straddling her lap; she leans forward to kiss her passionately, lips parting and tongues dancing as her lover’s hands come up to trail over her body, caressing her sides and roaming over her stomach with hesitation.  When they have to part for breath, Josephine trails her lips from the corner of Ellana’s mouth, down her jaw – pausing at the pulse point, feeling her love shiver and her reluctance dissipate – and up the column of her neck to brush against Ellana’s ear, where she whispers, “I’m sure.”

* * *

The first pieces of furniture have begun arriving from Val Royeaux within the last week, bringing them one step closer in their preparations for the baby, and Josephine has arranged a day free of meetings and other responsibilities for both herself and Ellana; it really shouldn’t take them more than a couple hours to work on the nursery, in her estimation, and then they can use the rest of the day for a well-deserved rest.

A knock on the door to their suite of rooms heralds the arrival of Dorian and the Iron Bull; Ellana had invited the two men to help with the nursery at Josephine’s request, since they have already claimed the position of ‘uncles’. The invitation was _not_ based on the fact that moving the furniture around would be much faster with the Iron Bull there. Not even a little bit.

“Come in!” Ellana calls from where she is standing in the main bedroom, watching her lover pace around the nursery, making notes on her clipboard and muttering to herself. At Josephine’s request, Gatsi had connected the room to the main bedroom only, so there is but one entrance and exit and it is through _them_. Paranoid, maybe, but a justified paranoia after the last year.

“What’s up, Boss?” The Iron Bull steps up next to her, Dorian trailing behind and looking around curiously. Ellana tries not to blush at the way the mage’s sharp eyes take in the personal details she and Josephine have added to their rooms, reminding herself that they’re nothing to be embarrassed about. “Where’s Ruffles?”

Ellana gives a nod in the direction of the open doorway, where another audible round of muttering can be heard. “She’s making some last-minute decisions.” Ellana has _told_ her that the layout doesn’t have to be set in stone, that they can rearrange the furniture whenever they wish to, but it doesn’t keep Josephine from fretting.

Dorian’s attention is caught at that, turning from the glass dragon on the window ledge; he smirks at the duo. “That, my dear Inquisitor, is something I do believe I can help with.”

The mage sweeps into the room as Ellana and the Iron Bull exchange glances. “Do you think he’ll manage, or will she throw him out on his ear?” the elf asks after a moment.

Bull shrugs. “Who knows? With the Vint, it’s hard to tell what he’ll say.”

Ellana waits a few breaths more, just in case Dorian did manage to rile Josephine up; thankfully, there is nothing but quiet conversation coming from the room, so she steps inside, followed by the Iron Bull.

Josephine is standing in the middle of the room with Dorian, the mage making a sweeping gesture with his right arm towards the window. “And if you put the rocking chair over there…” the arm swings around to point at a spot halfway along one wall, “then you’ll have a perfect view of the night sky!”

Studying the position Dorian is suggesting, Ellana has to admit the mage is right. No doubt they’ll be up in the wee hours of the morning for a while, and a nice view of the stars couldn’t hurt anything. “What do you think, Josie?”

The Antivan pushes an escaped lock of hair behind her ear as she examines first the proposed location, then her simple sketch of the nursery. “It would be pleasant to see the sky,” she concedes, and makes a notation on the sheet. “Very well. Bull, if you would aid Ellana in shifting the furniture?”

When Dorian lets out an indignant squawk at being left out, Ellana grins. “Oh, you’ll actually help this time? I seem to recall you cooking up all sorts of excuses to avoid heavy lifting before.”

The mage huffs and crosses his arms. “That was _different_ ; this is where I’ll no doubt be spending many hours. Of course I should make sure it is as perfectly arranged as possible.”

Once they actually begin moving the furniture, things go smoothly; the rocking chair is placed in its indicated spot along the same wall as the door, the cradle in the corner opposite and near the window, and the clothespress not too far from the cradle. The fireplace – because no living quarters in Skyhold can remain warm without one – takes up the center of the final wall, opposite the window.

Ellana joins Josephine in the doorway, where she is surveying the room; it looks…bare. Almost distressingly so, even to someone who isn’t used to much adornment of their living quarters. There is too much empty space between furniture pieces, only cold stone floors and cold stone walls to look at. She turns to look at her lover, a question already on her lips, but Dorian beats her to it.

“So, what is the theme going to be?” The mage is all but rubbing his hands together in glee as he eyes the two women, a predatory gleam in his eye. “The child will have a theme, yes? Of course they will.”

Dorian’s habit of answering his own question tends to put Ellana off-balance still; Bull, however, seems to have no such problem. “Yeah! The theme could be swords and dragons. And, y’know, swords killing dragons.”

“No.” That is Dorian again, his arms folded now as he stares at the Iron Bull. “This child has a distinguished magical pedigree, and they deserve to see an appreciation of that!”

Now Bull crosses his arms, mirroring his partner’s stance. “Oh? And how would you even do a mage-theme anyways? Have a bunch of sticks hanging from the ceiling?” The mage raises a finger, mouth open…then wilts, a frown touching his forehead as he tries to come up with a suitable retort. After a few seconds of silence, Bull crows in victory. “Swords and dragons it is!”

Josephine gets her mouth to work before Ellana does, and her voice is a whip-crack. “There will be _no_ weapons in this room, Bull!”

The Qunari sags, as though his favorite toy has been taken away. “But why not? The kid won’t be able to move on its own for a while anyways, right?” If the Inquisitor didn’t know better, she would say the seven-foot tall, muscle-bound, warrior was _whining_. From the way Dorian is rolling his eyes behind the man, he agrees.

Josephine’s stare gives no leeway. “Because I have said so.”

Knowing her lover’s position on violence when it is unnecessary, Ellana breaks into the conversation before Bull can push Josephine into a temper. “Why do we even need to have a theme?” She looks around the room again, trying to imagine other furnishings. “Why can’t we just have some drapes, a rug, and another chair?” That would go a long way towards making the room much cozier, and surely they’ll think of other things to add in the remaining months.

A scolding _tsk_ from Dorian tells her how wrong she is. “You want your décor to _match_ , my dear Inquisitor. How would you do so without a theme?” 

One scarred eyebrow wings up. “Ah, Dorian, you may have missed this, but the furniture we just moved doesn’t have a theme.”

“An oversight we must correct immediately –”

“ _No_.” There is no leniency in Josephine’s voice or posture; when Dorian goes to speak again, Josephine simply levels that terrifying glare of hers at the mage until he subsides.

Ellana turns her attention to the Iron Bull, leaving Dorian to fend for himself. The Qunari is still whining about not being allowed to decorate with his favorite items, and it’s oddly pitiful. She rolls her eyes and turns to Josephine, who has finished cowing the Tevinter mage. “Josie, can we let Bull put a dragon in here? Otherwise he’ll never stop grumbling.”

Josephine considers the idea, her eyes scanning over the Iron Bull’s drooping shoulders and dejected expression. “Oh, very well.” The warrior immediately perks up. “ _But_ , we must agree to whatever it is you plan on acquiring!”

A sensible stipulation. Bull wilts, but agrees after a moment.

Now it is Dorian’s turn to whine, his earlier stand-off with Josephine forgotten. “Why does _he_ get a dragon? Why don’t I get to choose something too? My ideas aren’t even –”

Ellana halts the mage’s protest with a tired wave. “Dorian, you never told us what you wanted in the first place. ‘Mage-y things’ doesn’t cut it.”

Dorian huffs. “Oh, very well then.” He narrows his eyes and points a dramatic finger at the couple. “But I _will_ have an idea, and I expect you to honor your word!”

He is met with yet another unimpressed stare from Josephine; Ellana ignores him entirely. “So we’re going to get a rug, some curtains, and another chair. Is there anything else that _isn’t_ sharp and pointy or vague?”

All four adults scan the room, both Bull and Dorian putting aside any jocular comments for the moment. After a minute of silence, Dorian gestures to the space above the cradle. “Well, there was this item that –”

Before he can get any further, Josephine talks over the mage in a most uncharacteristic fashion, and Ellana looks at the Antivan in surprise. “Perhaps Bull and Dorian can each buy the child a large toy?” When Dorian tries to continue his sentence, he is once more the target of a narrow-eyed stare that says ‘ _be quiet_ ’. Ellana’s brows furrow. What is Josephine doing? “That way they may both choose an item for the nursery.” Josephine gives a decisive nod before moving forward to take Dorian’s arm and escort him to a far corner of the room.

Ellana weighs her curiosity to know what is being discussed against Josephine’s ire if she overhears something she isn’t meant to. Self-preservation wins, and she walks over to talk with Bull instead. “So, what are you going to buy then?”

The Qunari grins. “Well, I was thinking about getting Dagna to –”

“Oh!”

Bull’s idea is cut off by a loud exclamation; both he and Ellana turn quickly to look at the other pair, startled. Dorian is standing opposite Josephine, who has one hand pressed to the side of her abdomen, staring at her with wide eyes. The mage’s mouth is still open, his throat working slightly as he tries to form words. “It just…”

All of Josephine’s previous ire seems to have faded, and she smiles at the Tevene. “The baby just kicked, yes.”

“Does…does it hurt? I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t feel, well…” Ellana watches, amused, as Dorian tries to process what just happened. They had told him the child was moving, of course, but he had yet to be around when it happened.

Josephine shifts her hand a little lower, pushing the heel of her palm against her swollen stomach. Her eyes close in concentration as she tries to feel the baby’s movements against her hand, before opening them again to catch Dorian’s attention. “Would you like to feel it?”

“…What?” Dorian squeaks, his eyes widening even further. “Are you, I don’t think that…”

“Oh, don’t be a wimp, Dorian!” Ellana calls across the room, grinning when the mage snaps his head to the right to glare at her. “If you can’t handle this, how will you deal with the baby when it’s here?”

Dorian sniffs, but his gaze is still uncertain when he turns back to Josephine. “If…if you’re sure, then.” He extends one hand slowly, giving Josephine time to change her mind; the Antivan grabs his wrist before he has crossed half the distance between them and presses his hand against her stomach, just a little higher than before. There is silence for a few seconds, before Dorian breaks it with a confused question. “It’s not moving?”

Ellana rolls her eyes. “Give it some time, Dorian. I’m sure you’ll be accosted soon enough.”

The Iron Bull, who has been watching the exchange with great interest, clears his throat. “So, while the Vint is waiting to feel the miracle of life over there, I’ll go get Dagna to make me that enchanted dragon.”

Josephine’s head snaps up, gaze zeroing in on Bull as Ellana drags one hand down her face. “Bull, can’t you come up with something _not_ dangerous? Please?”

“But it wouldn’t be dangerous! The kid’ll love it, and it’ll fly, and –”

“It moved!” Bull is cut off once more by an exclamation, but this time Dorian’s expression is alight with amazement. “That feels so _odd_.” He withdraws his hand, looking at his palm curiously.

The Iron Bull laughs victoriously. “See? The kid agrees with me!”

“Iron Bull, you will _not_ be obtaining a toy for this child without our _explicit_ agreement.” Josephine’s voice is deadly calm as she glares across the room at the Qunari; Ellana can see the warrior cringing from its weight, and takes a moment to marvel that her sweet, peaceful, lover can cow an experienced mercenary with a glance.

Bull raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I give. Nothing magical and nothing pointy.” He lowers his voice until it is audible only to Ellana, still standing close by. “Geez Boss, I knew Ruffles could be scary, but…wow.”

Well. This has been enough excitement for one day. Ellana claps her hands loudly. “So the nursery is settled then. Bull, Dorian, could you let the kitchens know we’ll be having dinner in here, please?”

The mage pouts as he is towed away from Josephine, but doesn’t resist the expulsion. “Oh very well, I can see when we aren’t wanted anymore. But you had better get a _thick_ rug, you hear?” Ellana nods her agreement as she shoves first Bull, then the mage, out of the room.

Josephine lets out a weary sigh as Ellana closes the door behind them. “I believe that is the first sensible suggestion he has had all day.” She moves over to the cradle, tracing her fingers lightly over the carvings worked into the railings; a personal touch they had requested from the craftsman.

Ellana walks back to Josephine, embracing her lover from behind and letting her hands rest atop the ever-growing swell of Josephine’s stomach. “So, what do you think Dorian will come up with as a mage-toy?”

She can feel Josephine’s lungs expand as she takes a breath, feel the baby kick gently against her palm as Josephine releases the air with resigned groan. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

* * *

Josephine rarely wakes up with the dawn now. Ellana isn’t sure if it’s solely because of the restless nights she spends tossing and turning in the bed, or if the baby is sapping her energy as well as keeping her awake, but her lover has become difficult to rouse in the mornings. Often she will mutter ‘just a little longer’, and pull a pillow over her head to block out the sun’s rays; although Ellana finds it quite endearing, she knows Josephine would be more upset if she was allowed to stay in bed.

Of course, getting Josephine awake and upright only matters if she can stay awake while at her desk as well; Ellana has walked in more than once to see the diplomat suppressing a yawn as she reviews trade agreements. So, as of today, she has decided that something must change.

Ellana marches into the Ambassador’s office, armed with a multitude of reasons as to _why_ , exactly, Josephine should take breaks during the day, and fully prepared to rebuff any resistance her lover may put up. She expects opposition.

What she _doesn’t_ expect is to see a man sitting at Josephine’s desk instead.

“Ah…” All her carefully arranged words fall out of her head as Ellana blinks at the young man in front of her.

The ambassadorial aide seems equally as surprised although, to his credit, he hides it better than Ellana does. “Inquisitor? Are you…do you need…” he takes a breath, finally settles on, “can I help you with something?” Definitely nervous, even after a few months in Skyhold. Then again, compared to the nobles of Orlais, she is a complete unknown to the poor man.

“Do you know where Lady Montilyet is?” Josephine had drilled it into her head early on that when in public for errands related to her position, Ellana is to address her as such. She remembers…most of the time; that, of course, doesn’t include the times she deliberately forgoes the title just to see Josephine sigh in exasperation.

“She asked me to handle any unexpected visitors for the next two hours,” is the unhelpful reply. Ellana sighs – of course she hadn’t told him – and waves a thank-you at the man as she leaves the office. Where would Josephine have gone?

Her first thought – of course – is of Leliana. Perhaps Josephine went to visit her friend? But why would she do so if she’s as tired as Ellana thinks she is? After all, that was her whole reason for visiting Josephine in the first place…

Bah. The elf shoves those thoughts to a far corner of her mind and focuses on climbing the spiraling stone steps up to the Rookery. She’ll find her love soon enough, because there is no doubt in her mind that if Josephine isn’t with Leliana, the Spymaster will know exactly where to find her.

Leliana is alone when she reaches the Rookery, to Ellana’s dismay. The redhead looks up when she crests the stairs, a cocked eyebrow raised in inquiry. “May I help you, Inquisitor?”

Ellana grimaces as she walks up to the rough wooden table that still serves as Leliana’s workplace, leaning one shoulder against the adjacent wall. “I don’t suppose you know where Josie is?”

That eyebrow stays up. “Is she not in her office?”

“No.” She is aware that her frown has morphed into a pout, bites her lips to hide her disgruntlement. “The aide doesn’t know where she’s gone.” Maybe if she pleads her case to Leliana, the other woman will help convince Josephine she needs to rest? What she wouldn’t hear from a concerned lover, she may listen to from an equally concerned friend. Ellana widens her eyes and clasps her hands. “You’ve noticed how tired she is, right? She needs to rest more, and the child is keeping her up at night as it is. I was going to ask her to take a nap, but…”

Her impassioned plea is cut off by a light laugh as Leliana grins at her. “I believe you will find that Josie knows her own limits better than you think she does.” When Ellana simply cocks her head in question, the Spymaster rolls her eyes playfully and pushes at Ellana’s shoulder. “Go find her. You know where to look.”

Ellana sends the other woman a disgruntled glare as she allows herself to be expelled from the tower. ‘You know where to look’ indeed. But the Spymaster is right, as usual. If Josephine wasn’t with Leliana, and isn’t doing diplomatic work…well, that leaves only one more place.

She takes pains to be quiet as she pushes open the door to their rooms and steps into the main room, takes a moment to remove her boots so the sound of hard leather on wood wouldn’t disturb Josephine before walking into the bedroom; lo and behold, her wayward lover is asleep on the bed, curled up on her side atop of the covers.

The elf grins ruefully and shakes her head – at least she won’t need to _convince_ Josephine into taking rest breaks – before snagging a blanket from the nearby couch to cover Josephine, just in case she gets chilled. Originally she had planned on staying with Josephine while she napped, but she doesn’t want to risk waking her lover up; after a moment’s thought, Ellana comes up with a suitable mental compromise. She will get some of her work done _now_ , so she can relax with Josephine later.

With that decided, Ellana leaves to find a few of her never-ending responsibilities that can be completed in their rooms.

When she returns, it is to find that Josephine has unconsciously tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and huddled further into the pillows; even then, the swell of her stomach is plainly visible underneath the covering. It takes a supreme exercise of willpower to _not_ go over to the bed and join her, but Ellana resists the temptation; she is, however, unable to keep from stealing glances at her lover as she works, because the sight of Josephine laying there asleep still makes her heart flutter with adoration.

Ellana is still working at the desk when Josephine rouses slowly, an hour or so later. She hears the rustle of cloth as the Antivan sits up with a yawn, suppresses a smile when there is a confused silence. “Yes, Josie?”

Josephine doesn’t make her wait long. “Why are you here, ‘Lana?” There is a pause. “Not that I’m ungrateful for your presence, but…”

Ellana finishes reading one last line of scribbles before turning in her chair to face Josephine. “I can plan expeditions just as well from in here as I can sitting in Cullen’s office.” She stands up and walks over to the bed to sit next to Josephine, taking one warm hand in her own and sending the Antivan a wry smile. “I was all ready to insist you start taking breaks in the afternoons, you know, and then you go and completely undermine my effort by deciding to do so on your own!”

Her levity is rewarded with an amused groan. “I _am_ a grown woman, Ellana. I am quite capable of caring for myself.”

“Well, yes, but you’re also a _stubborn_ grown woman who has a tendency to spend far more time at her work than is healthy,” Ellana counters. “So can you blame me for checking in on you?” She raises an eyebrow and dares her lover to comment; when not rebuttal is forthcoming, Ellana counts the point in her favor. “So, is this going to be a regular thing?”

“Mm.” Josephine stretches languidly, then reclaims her hand so she can start undoing her hair, which is rather sleep-mused. “If I feel it is necessary.”

She is content with that as their agreement; however, there is still the _other_ facet of her argument… “And will you at least consider starting your mornings a bit later? Maybe then you won’t be as tired in the afternoons.” Although Ellana would bet it is more the extended periods of work that are tiring Josephine out during the day than lack of sleep. Still, she presses her case. “Besides, it’s getting harder to wake you up.”

She is rewarded with a flat stare, and shrugs in response.

 “Like I said, you’re stubborn.”

* * *

Josephine is very thankful that the glassblower from Orlais had sent a message letting her know that he was on his way to Skyhold – with a few words slipped to Leliana and a good working knowledge of the trade routes between Orlais and the Frostbacks, she is able to plan out _exactly_ how the surprise will go.

The day before the caravan is due to arrive at Skyhold, Josephine holds a tactical meeting with her co-conspirators. They are in the not-so-often-used War Room; Ellana wouldn’t think to look for them _here_ , which makes it the perfect choice.

“So, let me outline the plan one last time.” Josephine ignores the rolled eyes from the two on her left. “Bull will ask Ellana to a friendly spar, which she never turns down –”

“Damn right!”

“– then Leliana will ask to see both of them in the Rookery for tactical planning regarding the members of the next expedition to the Emerald Graves.”

Leliana inspects her gloves nonchalantly. “We really must do something about the plague of giants roaming around. Now is as good a time as any, no?”

“Meanwhile, Dorian and I will locate Master Revaud and escort him to the nursery to set up the mobile.” Josephine shifts her weight, trying to find a position that doesn’t make her feet ache. “When we have finished, Dorian will come to fetch Bull, Leliana, and the Inquisitor.” She pauses until all present nod their agreement. “Am I missing anything?”

Dorian leans a hip against the sturdy wooden table casually. “What happens if our dear Nightingale can’t manage to keep the Inquisitor busy until we’re done?”

Leliana sends the mage a razor-sharp smirk. “I believe I can think of something to keep her occupied, Master Pavus.”

Josephine interrupts the budding argument before it can escalate. “Unless there are any other objections?” She pauses for a few beats, in case any are forthcoming. “Then I declare this meeting adjourned.”

It is easy to avoid notice in the bustle of the caravan’s arrival the next morning. The Iron Bull had promptly enacted his portion of the plan by challenging Ellana to a friendly spar over breakfast; as they had predicted, the Inquisitor was more than delighted to accept.

The craftmaster was rather simple to pick out in the crowd as well, and it was the work of a moment for Dorian to spirit him away into Skyhold without anyone taking undue notice. Josephine meets them at the open doors – since climbing the narrow stone steps when people are bustling in and out of the hold would be more dangerous than she is willing to risk – and makes small talk with the man as she leads the way to the nursery,. Master Revaud has insisted on carrying the box containing the mobile himself; it is a position Josephine can respect, since she is just as particular about the deliveries of certain documents.

When Revaud sets the wooden crate gently on the floor and pries off the top, Josephine holds her breath. This is the moment of truth, so to speak. The moment when she will see if the vision in her head has been recreated by the artist in front of her, leaning over his work and extricating it with careful hands. A cloth bundle is lifted from among a nest of many others, and the strips of fabric unwound from the figure…

It is _exquisite_. By his own admission, she knows Revaud has never seen a halla, but somehow he managed to capture the absolute _grace_ with which the creature moves. The piece is stationary, true, but it feels as though the halla will turn its head at any moment, as though the raised foreleg will paw at the palm beneath its remaining hooves. Josephine presses a hand to her throat. “You have outdone yourself, Maître.”

Revaud flushes dully, free hand rubbing at the back of his neck as Dorian reaches out to take the figurine. “Well, the sketches and wooden sculpture you sent were very useful, Lady Montilyet. Couldn’t have done without them.” He bends down once more to remove the other pieces, unwrapping and handing them off to either Josephine or Dorian to place atop the clothespress for the moment.

When they have emptied the crate, Dorian takes a step back and claps his hands with a small, genuine, smile. “Well! I do believe the Inquisitor will quite enjoy her gift.”

There are sixteen halla laid out, each frozen in a different pose, all appearing as though they will move at any time; they catch the light as they lay there, sending little flecks of brightness to rest on the stone walls of the room. Josephine frowns for a moment – one of them looks different – and moves forward to take a closer look. Her hand flies to her throat when she sees it: nestled in amongst the clear halla is one subtly tinted golden halla, just like in the legends of the Dalish. Ellana had told her the story of when she had to herd a golden halla back to the Dalish clan in the Exalted Plains; Hanal’ghilan, she had said it was called, and it visited the Dalish in times of great need.

“You have outdone yourself, Maître,” she repeats, voice thick. It is truly beyond her expectations.

It takes most of the morning, and part of the early afternoon, to hang the mobile to satisfaction. Dorian puts himself in charge of the construction of the mobile itself, cutting lengths of sturdy silken string to bind the halla to the thin metal circles Revaud has brought with him. There are two, one smaller than the other and meant to hang inside the larger; Dorian immediately decides that the inner will hold six halla, one of which is the golden piece, and the outer will hold ten, and busies himself with planning out their exact positioning – with Josephine’s occasional input, because it is _her_ brainchild.

Revaud makes equally spaced notches in the metal circles as the two plan, to ensure that each piece will stay exactly where it is positioned. Once that is done, he takes each completed halla and strings it to the designated frame with decisive knots, quicker and tighter than anything either Josephine or Dorian could hope to accomplish.

Then, once the mobile is assembled, comes the difficulty of _hanging_ it. The previous week, Josephine had asked Gatsi if he had any ideas on how to hang something from the stone ceiling; the dwarf had hemmed and hawed, but eventually suggested drilling a hole at the desired position and mortaring a hook into the opening. Accomplishing that feat without Ellana noticing – which meant her not going into the nursery for a time, since the workers left up the scaffolding they used to reach the ceiling – was difficult, but not impossible for someone of Josephine’s wiles, and had been accomplished not a few days ago. By the time she needs it, Gatsi assured her as he left, the mortar will be set enough to support any weight.

Revaud climbs the scaffolding carefully, and Dorian follows him up, Josephine carefully handing the fragile mobile to the mage when he reaches for it; Dorian’s job is solely to hold the mobile steady at this point, so the halla don’t clash against each other and involuntarily break – especially their delicate antlers. He does so admirably, even going so far as to cast a barrier around the piece with one hand, as Revaud secures the mobile with complex knots, which he then wraps in wire. “Just to be sure they don’t get eaten or such.”

Josephine holds her breath when the two men slowly let go of the mobile, so that it hangs proudly on its own, just low enough that she could brush the halla with one hand if she reaches up. She doesn’t notice when Dorian pulls the scaffolding away piece by piece, or when he and Revaud move the cradle back to its previous location, Dorian fussing over its placement until it is _perfectly_ centered underneath the mobile. She is too entranced watching the halla dance slowly as the movement in the room causes them to turn; it is everything she has ever imagined and _more_.

“I believe you have a satisfied customer, glassblower,” Dorian quips as he stands back to view the final product. “It is stunning, I must admit. Mm, a little to the right? Perfect.”

Josephine manages to expand her awareness to the room at large once more; she looks at Dorian, who is grinning with triumph, and gestures. “Dorian, if you would be so good as to fetch Ellana and the others?”

The mage gives a flourishing bow. “Why certainly, Lady Ambassador. I shall be back in a jiffy.”

While they wait for Dorian to return, Josephine notices Revaud shifting uncomfortably and looking around the room as if unsure of where he should be. Well, this is something she has thought of. “Maître, perhaps you would like to stand against the wall, here?” She motions to the shared wall between the nursery and the bedroom. “I believe you will have the perfect view of Ellana’s reaction.”

The craftsman relaxes. “That’s perfect, my lady. Thank you.”

The remaining few minutes pass in silence; Josephine is content to watch the mobile turn oh so slowly from its anchor, tracking the golden halla as it disappears amongst its fellows.

When she hears voices approaching in the hall, Josephine feels her heartbeat pick up. This will be the moment of truth. The baby seems to respond to her quickening pulse, because there is a trio of kicks against the right side of her abdomen, and then that strange internal fluttering that means – she thinks – it has executed a flip. Sure enough, the next kick is much lower, although thankfully missing her bladder.

She moves to stand by the open door, listening to Ellana banter with the other three as she enters their suite of rooms. It appears they have let Ellana lead the way, because Josephine sees enter the bedroom first; there is a smile on her love’s face when she spots Josephine through the doorway. “Ma sa’lath, Dorian says you wish to speak with all of us! Shouldn’t we be talking out in…”

Ellana’s voice fades away as she enters the nursery, brows furrowing in confusion as she sees first the glinting lights on the stone walls, then tracks them back to their originator above the cradle. Her mouth remains open as she takes two more steps forward, slowing to a stop in the middle of the room, transfixed on the mobile. The others enter the room behind her, silently waiting – Dorian is nervously expectant, but Leliana and the Iron Bull are at ease – just as Josephine is, for a reaction, something, anything.

Josephine’s heart jumps into her throat as the silence drags on, one hand coming up to try and press it back down as she stands frozen, watching the still figure of her lover…then there is movement, Ellana turning and walking towards her with a measured pace, her movements noiseless even in the quiet. She doesn’t know what Ellana is thinking, her face is the blank mask she had perfected for judgements, she had never learned how to read it, what if Ellana hates it? It’s a reminder of the Clan she will never return to, what if –

Arms encircle Josephine’s torso tightly, a weight presses against her shoulder as Ellana buries her head in the crook of her neck. She feels Ellana’s lips moving against her skin, eases back just enough to hear the murmured words. “Ma enansal, ma nehn, ma vhenan…” She knows these words – my gift, my joy, my heart – and a wave of _relief_ washes through her, and she hugs Ellana back just as tightly.

Until now, she has been aware of the others in the room – but she feels wetness against her shoulder, what can only be tears dampening the cloth, and their audience is forgotten. One hand moves to cradle the back of Ellana’s head, holding it to her shoulder as she rubs a soothing hand up and down Ellana’s back.

 “Ellana? Ellana, love, speak to me.”

It takes a moment, but the elf pulls her head away from Josephine’s shoulder to meet her concerned gaze with watery eyes and a whisper: “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Josephine doesn’t have an answer; instead, she brushes a lock of Ellana’s hair away from her face, pushes it behind one ear.

“You have given me back my home, ma sa’lath.” The words are sincere, full of an emotional depth that Josephine knows isn’t yet fully realized. Then there is a thump, a kick that Ellana can feel against her own stomach where she presses against Josephine, and she cracks a true smile. “No, you _are_ my home.” And Josephine feels her heart flip all over again.

Then Dorian claps his hands, and the spell woven around them is broken. “Okay, enough with the mushy tender feelings now! I’m glad you like the surprise, Inquisitor, but now that you have an item with a _clear_ theme,” he gestures obviously towards the mobile, “I believe it’s time to choose some accessories, no?”

Next to the mage, Leliana rolls her eyes and grabs his sleeve. “Let them have their moment, Master Pavus.” She tows him, protesting, out the door; Bull follows the two with a wink at the couple, and Josephine waves at him gratefully. As wonderful as Dorian has been in setting up the surprise, she needs a break from the over-dramatic mage.

They aren’t completely alone yet, however. Master Revaud pushes away from the wall, where he has been standing with a wide grin, and the two women turn at the movement. He doesn’t wait for either of them to speak. “Makes me glad to see someone enjoy my work so much.”

Ellana’s answering smile is full of gratitude, if still a tad teary. “Thank you, ser, for what you’ve made.”

Revaud waves it off. “Seeing it put to good use is thanks enough. Besides, it was all the idea of your lady, here.” He gestures at Josephine. “Never done a halla before. Graceful creatures. Going to make more.” He sends them a casual salute and wanders out of the nursery, leaving the couple – finally – alone.

Ellana’s arms had never released Josephine; she tightens the embrace once more, leans forward to give Josephine a deep kiss, before releasing her love – although she still keeps hold of Josephine’s hand – and walking over to stand at the cradle. As Josephine watches, Ellana reaches up to gently trace the curved legs of the nearest glass halla, her expression tender as she watches the figurine rotate.

“So, you do like it then?” Josephine teases with a gentle squeeze of Ellana’s hand, expecting an equally light response. But when Ellana turns to face her, there is no teasing at all in her expression, only deep gratitude.

“Ma sa’lath, it is perfect.” That same hand falls to brush against Josephine’s cheek and cup her neck. “As are you.” And Josephine’s heart flutters once more as Ellana seals the statement with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My normal proof-reader/idea-generator has been on vacation this past week, so I apologize if some parts read a bit roughly. They may end up undergoing minor revision if it ends up being deemed necessary.


	9. Month Seven: Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It couldn't be smooth-sailing forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July to any Americans reading this, and happy usual-day to everyone else. :3

**Month Seven**

“…and two companies stationed in Emprise du Lion are due for a rotation next week. I’ve already sent out their replacements; they should return the week after. Do you have any suggestions for their next deployment?”

Ellana scans the – much revised, since Corypheus’s defeat – map of Thedas spread out on the former-War Table. Now, instead of determining their next movement to save the world, it is primarily used for keeping track of troop movements and rotations, and the occasional visual representation of one of Leliana’s reports.

“Perhaps Scout Harding has some ideas?” Josephine suggests as she makes a notation on her clipboard. “She has a more intimate knowledge of the weather aspects of the outposts; I’m sure that they would be glad to be in a warmer climate next.”

Ellana nods her agreement. “Just not the Emerald Graves. Dorian mentioned that it rained for a straight week there; it seems to be trying to emulate Crestwood and the Mire.” She gives a shudder that isn’t entirely feigned.

“You shall have to wait a few days for Harding to return, I’m afraid,” Leliana cuts in. “She has been scouting the route between here and Haven since we received reports of the rockfalls. She is due back by the end of the week, however.”

Cullen shrugs. “I can wait. I’m sure the soldiers would enjoy a bit more downtime.” A wicked grin tugs the scar at the corner of his mouth. “They can make it up in training.”

“If that’s the last order of business then?” Josephine looks up from the itinerary she had made prior to the meeting, and receives three nods. “Very well. We shall reconvene next week, then.”

Even with the meeting officially over, none of the four move to immediately leave the room: Leliana pulls the Inquisitor aside to begin a quiet conversation, and Cullen studies his troop markers for a moment to memorize their placements before turning to Josephine. “Have you talked with Varric recently?”

Josephine frowns, confused. “The other day, yes. Why do you ask?”

That roguish smirk spreads even wider. “Well, I was wondering if you had heard any rumors of yet another Wicked Grace rematch. I believe I need to win back my honor four times over, Lady Montilyet.” He waves a hand towards her stomach. “I’m hoping your child may take pity on me and distract you so I’ll have a decent chance of redeeming myself.”

Josephine grins right back, placing her clipboard down on the table and resting one hand possessively on her stomach. “I don’t believe that is how this works, Commander, and I’m insulted you think I would be so easily distracted by a few movements.” She mock-glares at the warrior, and Cullen raises his hands in surrender.

“My apologies, it shan’t happen again.” His eyes skim down from her face to focus on where she cradles her abdomen. “Has there been any news?”

It’s rather sweet, the mild interest Cullen is taking in her pregnancy. The poor man is still uncomfortable referencing the changes her body has made directly, but he does try. “Nothing noteworthy,” Josephine responds with a soft smile. “Actually, we’re due to see Aeryn in a quarter-hour for a routine visit.”

A baffled frown pulls Cullen’s eyebrows together. “Didn’t you just see her recently? I thought you went two weeks ago.”

“Well, the bigger the baby gets, the more we want to be sure everything is going smoothly.” Ellana joins them, unconsciously wrapping one arm around Josephine’s waist as she comes to stand next to the Ambassador. “Are you ready, Josephine?”

A quick glance shows that Leliana has already departed; well, she’ll see her friend tomorrow, when Leliana joins her for a relaxing afternoon of gossip and tea. There  _are_  perks to having a capable assistant, after all. “I am. Shall we depart?” They leave the – Planning? They really must come up with an official name – Room with the promise that she’ll approach Varric about another match of Wicked Grace soon, to Cullen’s delight. He really does hold out hope that one day the luck of the cards will favor him.

“What do you want to do after the appointment?” Ellana asks as they cross the grounds to the healer’s office. Both women are bundled into thick cloaks for the short trip; the onset of winter in the mountains is anything but mild.

Josephine wraps her arms tighter around her body and tucks her hands into her armpits as they pass through a particularly cold patch of air. “I don’t particularly care, as long as it’s warm, ‘Lana.” When her lover laughs, the Antivan scowls and ducks her head, deigning to ignore Ellana for the rest of the walk – at least until Ellana moves a few steps ahead of her to open the door to Aeryn’s office and allow her quicker access to the warm air. That gets the elf back into her good graces.

Aeryn is expecting them, of course; she looks up from the large book spread open on her wooden worktable with a smile. “Good afternoon Lady Ellana, Lady Josephine. How goes the day?”

The women make idle conversation as Josephine walks to the raised pallet Aeryn has set up against one wall, the movements now a familiar routine. The back half of the pallet is tilted upwards, allowing Josephine to lie back without feeling as though her lungs are being squished by the baby, with a couple pillows to support her head and allow her to be an active participant. Ellana leans against the wall as the healer begins with her standard questions: how are the baby’s movements, has she noticed any changes in their patterns, how is she sleeping.

The answers she gives appear to satisfy Aeryn because she moves onto the next portion of the appointment, checking Josephine’s hands, ankles, and face for swelling. She has already explained why she does during the previous visit, when Ellana asked; her lover is always interested in the ‘why’ of things, and the way her face lights up when she understands is adorable.

She shows no signs of swelling, and thus they continue to the last part of the exam – checking the baby itself. Josephine has become accustomed to Ellana’s head on her bare stomach, ear pressed against the curve to hear and feel the baby’s movements; it is rather strange for that ear to belong to Aeryn instead, but it is the only way for the healer to hear the baby’s heartbeat. She listens for a minute or two as silence blankets the room, Ellana reaching for Josephine’s hand and interweaving their fingers, but not daring to talk and disturb Aeryn’s concentration.

“Mm.” Aeryn raises her head, but isn’t yet done. Her hands cover Josephine’s stomach, rough palms dragging against the sensitive skin, as she presses one hand to the side of the swell and rests the other lightly on the front; a slightly firmer push elicits a response from the baby, a thumping kick that hits Aeryn’s hand square in the palm, and Josephine can’t keep a proud grin from her face. She can  _feel_  the vigor in that kick, in the way the baby twists inside her in reaction to every nudge from Aeryn’s fingers.

When Aeryn finally draws away, it is with a pleased smile. “The babe grows strong and healthy.” Ellana squeezes Josephine’s hand and she looks up, feeling her heart swell as she takes in the happiness the elf is practically radiating; really, is it even possible to love Ellana more than she already does?

She sits up with the aid of a helping hand at her back, pulling the hem of her loose tunic back down over her bump. Aeryn has moved back over to her table, writing a few words on a loose sheet of parchment. “Do you have any other concerns, or any symptoms I should know of?”

“Well…” Josephine hesitates. It isn’t anything major, just a small relapse of sorts, but…well, what could it hurt to let Aeryn know? The scratching of quill against parchment stops, and even without looking up Josephine knows the healer is frowning at her; Ellana’s hand is still caught within hers, but the thumb that has been stroking over the back of her hand has gone still. It is as though the room has frozen, and she hasn’t even spoken yet. “I’ve been feeling…unsteady, during the day.” She searches for words to describe the sensations. “The dizziness of before has returned, when I am standing up. My hands will shake, and it is harder to hold items – but it hasn’t interfered with my work,” she hastens to add,  _needing_  that qualifier to be known. It doesn’t seem to matter, however, because Ellana’s grasp has been tightening as she talks, until the elf’s knuckles show white against her light tan.

The silence drags on for a heartbeat, two, and then Ellana wrenches her hand away and spins to face Aeryn with panicked eyes. “You aren’t saying anything, why aren’t you saying anything?”

Josephine frowns. Why is Ellana reacting so strongly? “Ellana…”

The elf pays her no mind. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? With Josie, or with the baby, or – or –” She is pacing now, tight steps that bring her close to Aeryn then back again, her eyes never leaving the healer sitting at the table with her eyes closed, lips moving silently.  “ _Why aren’t you saying anything?_ ”

That is  _enough_. Josephine reaches out, one hand grasping a handful of Ellana’s sleeve and yanking at the fabric. “Ellana, stop this –”

“Josie, why didn’t you  _tell_  –”

“– unseemly display, it’s really nothing to worry –”

“– me, you could be in  _danger_ , how could you –”

“– about,  _calm down!”_

Ellana is trying to jerk away from her, face twisted in a rictus of anger and fear, her voice rising and rising as she struggles –

“Inquisitor, if you do not stop, I will ask you to leave.”

The authoritative voice cuts through the disjointed words, and two sets of eyes – one irritated and one fearful – snap towards the healer, who now stands in front of them. Ellana’s glare intensifies and she opens her mouth, no doubt to demand answers, but an angry hiss from Josephine has her jaw snapping shut as she wrenches away from the two women and stands, muscles tense, near one wall.

“Now.” Aeryn’s voice is quieter, but no less commanding. “For how long have these symptoms occurred?”

She tries to think, tries to clear her head of the angry fog that has descended upon the room. She had first noticed the return of the dizziness nearly a month ago, but as long as she was careful, it was manageable. Then came the shaking, little tremors in her hands when she held them out with her fingers spread, then the weakness. “They have worsened within the last two weeks.” Ellana’s head snaps towards her and the elf’s lips thin into a white line at the words, but really, it isn’t interfering with her abilities or functionality, so it surely isn’t serious; Ellana is simply overreacting.

Aeryn remains calm. “Have you noticed any other symptoms?”

“No.”

The healer moves forward, two fingers reaching out to rest on Josephine’s neck, just under her jawline; her lips purse as she concentrates, counting under her breath, before she draws back with a frown. “A bit fast. How often have you been eating?”

Josephine expects Ellana to jump in with the answer, as she has before when they are asked similar questions – after all, her lover takes pride in keeping track of her meals and her comfort, because it makes Ellana feel more involved – but the elf stays silent. Josephine shoots a confused glance at Ellana – who refuses to meet her eyes and stands there with her arms crossed tightly over her ribs – before answering herself. “Ellana ensure that I eat three meals a day.” The Ambassador is self-aware enough to know that if Ellana didn’t come to remind her to eat, she would most likely forget midday, being too wrapped up in her work. Maker knows it has happened many times before.

“Do your symptoms recede after eating?”

An odd question. Josephine frowns, trying to recall hazy details. “I…believe they do, yes.”

“Mm.” Aeryn steps back and crosses her arms, fingers tapping against the rough cloth of her sleeve. “Lady Josephine, I do not believe those three meals are enough to keep you well.” Her gaze shifts to Ellana, who still has yet to move. “Inquisitor, can you arrange for smaller portions to be supplied more frequently?” Aeryn turns back to Josephine without waiting for a response. “Eating throughout the day may help, as well as simply consuming more nourishment. Your body is experiencing something similar to travel fatigue; I am sure the Inquisitor is familiar with the symptoms.”

From the corner of her eye, Josephine sees Ellana give a terse nod, but the elf still doesn’t speak.

“I would like for you to visit me every other day for the next week or so, just to ensure you are not worsening,” Aeryn continues on. “And do not stop your walks; they will only help to quell the sickness. With luck, you shall be back to full health in a couple weeks.”

Josephine nods her agreement, and the appointment ends. She is able to push off the raised pallet and stand rather easily, although she feels a bracing hand at her back just in case she needs the support. The moment she is upright, however, the hand is retracted, and Ellana moves ahead of her to be the first one out the door.

The Antivan frowns. Ellana is usually quite talkative after their visits to Aeryn, wanting to discuss any new developments, but now she is quiet – sullen, even – and walking in front of Josephine with rigid movements. “Ellana, what troubles you?” She can’t fix the situation until she knows what is wrong.

She sees the elf’s shoulders twitch. “Nothing.”

“ _Cazzate_.” Josephine stops walking, watches her love continue away from her; she raises her voice to cover the distance. “Do not lie to me.”

Ellana freezes, but doesn’t turn to face her. “You mean like you did to me?”

The words are sharp, meant to cut, and they  _do_ ; her heart bleeds even as she protests her innocence. “I haven’t! Why would I  _ever_ –”

A breath, and Ellana is in front of her, grabbing her upper arms, eyes  _blazing_. “You said you were  _fine_ , that nothing was wrong, but you weren’t! You didn’t tell me, you didn’t  _trust_  me.” Her expression twists into a pained grimace as she lets Josephine go, tries to spin away once more.

Josephine catches her hand before she can escape. “I truly didn’t think it was any different from before.” Her stomach clenches with guilt when Ellana tugs against her grip. “Do you remember?” The question is nearly desperate. “You told me Aeryn said it was nothing to worry about. I thought the dizziness was the same, I swear.”

Finally Ellana turns around, but the pain is still there and her glare is defiant. “You still should have  _told me_. I can’t take care of you if you don’t tell me things!”

It’s too much, it’s too much,  _it’s too much_. Josephine turns her head away, feeling tears threaten her eyes.  _Damn hormones_. When she speaks again, her voice is small. “I  _am_  sorry. I truly didn’t think it was abnormal.” Against her best efforts, a tear slips down her cheek as her nose begin to run, and she can’t stop the small sniffle that escapes. Her lack of control is  _mortifying,_  and she turns away, releasing Ellana’s hand. There is a comfortingly sturdy wall behind her, and Josephine leans her forehead against it, trying desperately to hide and expecting Ellana to leave her, to go somewhere else to work off her temper…

She is surprised when strong arms wrap around her shoulders from behind, a gusty sigh pressing against her neck. “Ir dirthara, Josephine.” Even with Ellana behind her, she can’t keep the tears from falling, can’t keep her heart from clenching painfully in her chest. When her breath hitches in her throat, those arms pull tighter, and Josephine clutches at them for comfort. One hand works its way free of her grip to touch her damp cheek, and Ellana’s chin presses further into her shoulder. “Numin’din, emma lath.  _Please_ , don’t cry.”

She tries to bite back another wave of tears, and is – again – completely unsuccessful. “I don’t want to cry.” Her voice is ragged. “I don’t want to, but I can’t stop.” She feels the baby roll inside her, as though sensing her distress, and that potent guilt surges through her once more, body shuddering in Ellana’s grasp.

The anger of mere minutes before has disappeared, chased away by Ellana’s uncertainty of how to deal with this new situation. She knows they aren’t done with the previous discussion, that there is still much to reconcile, but… “Can we go inside? Please?” Her voice is meek, so very uncharacteristic of her usual assuredness, and if her emotions were her own Josephine is sure she would cringe. Instead, she wipes at one cheek with the side of her palm, seeing dark smudges on her skin when she draws her hand away, but she can’t bring herself to care about this either; she is so  _tired_ , and even though it is still late afternoon she just wants to lay down and  _sleep_.

“As you wish.” Ellana’s grip loosens but Josephine takes a few extra moments to let go of her arms, needing the comforting support for just a little longer. When she does release the elf, wiping at her cheeks once more with the back of one wrist, Ellana weaves one arm through the crook of her elbow and leads her into the castle, subtly guiding through the halls to avoid as many people as possible on the way to their rooms.

Ellana hangs back in the doorway, watching, as Josephine makes for the washbasin, wetting a scrap of cloth and wiping off the smeared remnants of her kohl. Josephine feels that gaze still upon her as she lets her hair down – uncaring, for once, of where she places the pins she relies on – and lays on the bed, curling up on her side with her back to the doorway. It has been  _so long_  since she felt like a child, but that is how she feels at the moment: a small child who wants nothing more than to be comforted as the world is wished away.

But Ellana is still mad at her…Josephine feels moisture lean from behind closed eyelids once more, and she turns her head to bury her face in the pillow. This is  _ridiculous_ , but she can’t stop, because her greatest crime in this moment is having angered –  _hurt_  – Ellana with her omission, and it feels as though her own personal Breach has torn its way into her heart and is swallowing her whole.

She doesn’t hear Ellana’s approach, isn’t aware her lover moved until the bed shifts under Ellana’s weight when she kneels on the covers in front of the Antivan instead of her normal position at Josephine’s back. Gentle hands press at her shoulder, forcing her body to roll until a callused thumb can wipe at her exposed cheek, smearing over the wet skin.

“Dar’atisha, ma sa’lath.” It is a whisper as Ellana shifts to lay in front of her, one arm wrapping loosely over the swell of her stomach and resting against her back, the other slipping under Josephine’s neck to cradle her head to the elf’s chest. “It will be alright. I promise.”

The irony of Ellana’s reassuring  _her_  isn’t lost on Josephine, but at the moment all she can do is lay there, cocooned in the comfort of Ellana’s arms, and slowly – so very slowly – the tears stop falling, and her chest begins to unclench, although it is still long minutes before she can muster the courage to raise her head from Ellana’s warm embrace. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is stronger, but still thick with guilt. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

A pause – her heart clenches all over again, and warmth prickles behind her eyes – before Ellana releases a long sigh. “Just…promise you’ll tell me these things, alright? I’d rather worry about something insignificant than not know of an ailment that could take you both away from me.” As if on cue, the baby rolls again in her stomach, two feet pushing off from the front wall of her womb and pressing against Ellana.

Josephine lets out a watery chuckle as her love’s arm draws tighter around her. “I promise.”

They lay in silence for a minute or two before Josephine speaks up again, her voice small once more, only this time with embarrassment. “Ellana?”

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

* * *

The first night Ellana wakes up to Josephine leaving the bed, she thinks nothing of it. The Antivan has been grousing about her increasingly small bladder size and its inopportune moments of complaint, so she assumes that the baby has finally decided to disturb Josephine’s slumber as well.

It’s true, but not quite in the way she thinks.

The second night, she tries to stay awake until Josephine returns, slipping in and out of consciousness as she dozes. It feels like a long time before she wakes to find her love nestled against her once more, but time has always passed strangely when she sleeps lightly, so Ellana puts the thought of her mind and wraps an arm over Josephine’s waist.

The third night Josephine disappears, Ellana is suspicious. She forces herself to stay awake this time, passing long minutes by watching the dull embers in the hearth and listening for any footsteps in the hall. She waits until Josephine’s pillow is cool to the touch before sliding out of bed – muttering uncomplimentary words about over-enthusiastic-workaholics who really should be  _sleeping_  or at least  _resting_  instead of wandering the castle at all hours of the night – and searching in the dark for the thick, fleece-lined, leather slippers Josephine had given her for her nameday, grateful for the night-vision that is as inherent to her race as their pointed ears.

Ellana  _does_  do one last check of their suite of rooms, just in case she’s incorrect and Josephine lost track of time while checking the nursery or something, but she is the sole resident.

Her feet trace the familiar path to the Ambassador’s office as she grumbles to herself, trying to determine the best way of convincing her lover to come back to bed like a sane person. She finally decides that without knowing  _why_  Josephine is awake and doing work in the first place, it will be impossible to reason with the diplomat.

There is no light shining from under the heavy door to betray a presence, but Ellana doesn’t let that raise her hopes. Sure enough, when she steps into the office, she sees Josephine sitting at her desk in a heavy dressing-gown, her dark hair loose and falling about her shoulders as she leans studiously over a parchment that has – in Ellana’s professional opinion – far too many cramped words scribbled across it.

After a moment of standing there unnoticed, Ellana clears her throat pointedly; she isn’t the least bit mollified when Josephine’s head jerks up, surprise written across her features before she schools her expression. “Ah…” At least the Antivan has the grace to blush a dull red, as though caught doing something she shouldn’t. “What are you doing here, Ellana?”

The elf advances until she can brace both palms on the smooth wooden surface between them, squashing mild amusement when Josephine automatically leans back in her chair so Ellana isn’t looking down at her. “I could ask you the same question, Josie. I thought you were tired.”

Her answer is a shrug. “I was, this evening. But now…” Josephine raises her hands helplessly. “Now I am completely awake.”

“Why?” She doesn’t understand. It is so difficult to wake Josephine up in the mornings, and she often takes afternoon naps, so…why?

Another shrug. “I’ve no notion, ‘Lana.”

“Is it the baby?”

Josephine shakes her head, dark tresses slipping in front of her eye for a moment before she hooks them behind one ear. “The baby was quiet when I woke –” A wry smile twists her lips as she reaches out for Ellana’s hand, “– although that has changed in the interim.”

Ellana rounds the desk, letting Josephine guide her palm to press against the bump; she can see its shape shifting and stretching, even through the heavy cloth of the dressing gown, as their child works at changing the dimensions of its current residence. At least the movement quiets a little under her hand, although the baby continues to shift around. “So you just couldn’t sleep?”

Josephine nods, and Ellana sighs. At least the nighttime wandering isn’t deliberate. Still… “Will you at least come back to bed?” She engineers her best pout. “How’m I supposed to fall asleep without you beside me?”

Obviously she has been with Josephine too long, because all she garners is an aggrieved eye-roll. “I do believe you can manage, my lady; you have for years before now.” Dark eyes narrow as Ellana tries – and fails – to suppress a yawn. “Besides, you need your rest.”

She is  _not_  going to let Josephine distract her. “So do you!” She frowns when the other woman hesitates. “ _Josie_.”

“I did try to fall back asleep, I promise. But since I cannot, why shouldn’t I use my time more productively?”

There isn’t much she can say in the face of such logic, so Ellana shifts gears. “Okay, I understand. But can’t you work in the bed instead? Or even in the room?”

Now it is Josephine’s turn to frown. “I do not wish to disturb you –”

“You won’t, I promise,” Ellana cuts her off. Seeing that Josephine is about to protest once more, she switches to flat-out pleading. “ _Please_ , Josie. Just…humor me?”

It makes her uncomfortable to have Josephine so far away from watchful eyes, even though she knows Leliana has spies stationed throughout the castle at night, just as Cullen has soldiers on watch. She knows it isn’t rational, but after her scare earlier in the month, she can’t help but be a bit paranoid.

Josephine’s eyes soften slightly, and Ellana begins to hope. Perhaps one more push… “I really do sleep better with you beside me.”

That does it. One soft hand comes up to cradle her cheek, and Ellana leans into the caress as Josephine sighs lightly. “I suppose I  _can_  read these reports just as readily in bed.” She looks down at where Ellana’s tanned hand still rests on her abdomen. “At least the baby seems to have quieted under your touch, so that shan’t keep me up.”

With a soft chuckle, Ellana moves back to allow Josephine the space to lever herself out of the chair, knowing better than to offer her assistance. Now, if only her own sleepiness was just as contagious…

She shifts from foot to foot as Josephine tidies her desk and gathers up the relevant papers – Ellana promptly relieves her lover of stack, which earns her a mild glare – and the candle. When she is satisfied, Josephine nods to the elf. “After you, then.”

As they walk through the halls, Ellana yawns multiple times, testing a theory she had once heard about yawns being catching. She is ready to give up by the time they arrive at their suite, but tries one more time as she heads towards the bed. Her persistence is rewarded when she hears Josephine suppress a yawn of her own, not a five seconds later, and the elf grins. “Perhaps you’re tired after-all?”

She watches from the under the blankets as Josephine sheds her heavy dressing-gown and fusses with her candle, paper, and pillows, before finally slipping into bed beside her. “Per-haps.” The word is broken by another yawn, and Ellana cheers internally. “Are you satisfied?”

Ellana thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. “Try to fall asleep again? If you can’t, then I won’t make a fuss about you working, I promise.”

She feels more than hears what is probably an exasperated sigh, but Josephine acquiesces after a moment, setting her papers on the table beside the candle and blowing out the flame. “Only for you, my darling.”

Ellana raises herself enough to brush Josephine’s lips with a light kiss. “I love you, Josie.” She feels the Antivan settle herself lower in the bed and waits until the shifting beside her has ceased before moving as well, slipping one arm across Josephine’s waist to rest her palm on the linen covering their child and leaning her forehead against the nape of her neck. “Good night, ma sa’lath.” It is a sleepy mumble as her eyes drift shut, already halfway gone.

She barely hears Josephine’s soft response as she slips fully into unconsciousness. “Good night, Ellana.”

* * *

Josephine has slowly gotten used to Cole over the time he has been with the Inquisition – more so once Ellana, Varric, and Solas helped the human-spirit-boy resolve his origins – but that doesn’t mean she knows how to react to his peculiarities. Cole wasn’t a  _frequent_  visitor to her office before her pregnancy, but he did drop by once or twice a week to ask a question or comment on some facet of Skyhold; in the last few months, however, he has only dropped by a few times and each visit is brief, as though he is uncomfortable.

At first she thought the reason was some transient problem but, when the discomfort persisted, she had asked Cole if there was anything she could do to help. His answer was, of course, vague. “Two minds but one voice, weak and strong, tangled together. I can’t tell them apart, and it hurts.”

As best she can tell, from what she knows of Cole’s powers, he hears both her own thoughts – and she truly does with there is a way to avoid that, even though she knows he tries not to listen – and those of the baby. She had asked Cole if he could filter out the noise, as Solas and Varric had taught him to do with others, but he replied that they were too loud. ‘They’ being their thoughts themselves, or ‘they’ being her and the baby, she isn’t sure. (Which brings up another question, does the baby even  _have_  ‘thoughts’, at such an early stage in its development? There’s really no way to tell.)

So Josephine shrugged and wished Cole a good day, telling him to come back when it is comfortable to be around her again, and doesn’t expect to see him for months yet.

It is a surprise, then, when Cole walks into her office with a wide, beaming, smile; a far cry from the grimace of pain that had previously twisted his face, no matter how he tried to hide it. He answers her question before she can voice it. “Two separate voices, interweaving and complementing, but unique.”

“Oh?” The baby – previously still – begins moving as he speaks, at least two separate flutters of limbs pressing against her womb.

“They can think on their own now.” Straw-blond hair shifts to reveal one bright blue eye as Cole cocks his head. “They don’t know what they are.”

“Ah…pardon?”

“Boy or girl, they don’t know yet. Just that they  _are_.” His smile widens as he watches Josephine stroke a reassuring hand over her stomach, feeling the child shift under her palm. “And that they are loved.”

 _Well, then_. She feels her cheeks heat up with pleasure, a warmth echoed in her chest. “How can you tell? If you do not mind my asking.”

That bright blue eye disappears as he thinks. “It’s like…a warm blanket. Comforting vibrations; two different people, but both with the same emotion. A press back against curious movement, an acknowledgement of being.” His eyes open and he shrugs, a shift of thin shoulders under quilted cloth. “How do you know you’re loved? You just…know.”

Josephine smoothes the fabric of her dress over the firm roundness of her swollen abdomen again; it seems different, somehow, knowing that her child can  _feel_  the movement. “I understand.” Her voice is warm with gratitude. “Thank you, Cole.”

His response is that wide, boyish, grin he seems to have picked up from Varric. “Can I stay here? It’s nice now that you aren’t clashing. I won’t distract you, I promise.”

She  _wants_  to say yes, but a lifetime of considering situations from all angles has her hesitating. What would others – those nobles who don’t know or care who helped the Inquisitor save the world – think if they saw Cole? After all, he can’t make them forget anymore…

“I wouldn’t be a burden.” Cole pleads his case with a truly devastating example of puppy-eyes.

Josephine has to turn away lest she fall victim; as she does, her gaze sweeps across a missive that has been languishing on her desk for the last few hours, waiting for the next time a runner decides to check in – since getting up to flag down a messenger has become more trouble than it’s worth – and a wonderfully brilliant idea springs to mind. Catching two birds in one net, so to speak.

“Cole, would you mind giving this note to Leliana?” she asks, reaching for an empty scrap of parchment to scribble her message on. The Spymaster will know Cole is helping her by the end of the day even without the missive, but Josephine still wishes to inform her friend. The fact that Leliana can then reassure Ellana that she is being watched over is purely a secondary motive.

“I can help?” The way his face lights up with happiness is adorable, and Josephine can’t help but smile back.

Josephine doesn’t explicitly tell Ellana that Cole is helping her, although she does inform her love that night of what he had said about being able to hear the baby. Ellana is just as excited as she is at the news, and spends the rest of the night talking to their child and pushing back against any movements.

The next morning, the diplomat walks into her office and turns around to find Cole already perched on the armrest of one of the chairs in front of the fire. “Cole!” One hand jumps to cover her heart, the other to brace herself on the desk as she sways. “Don’t do that!”

The boy immediately hops down, hands reaching toward her beseechingly. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

Josephine takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and sits down in her nicely padded chair a little harder than normal. The distraught look on Cole’s face makes it so very hard to stay angry with him, and she relents after a moment. “I’m alright. Please do not do that again, however. I prefer not to have surprise visitors waiting in my office.”

“A man hiding in a corner, a blade flashes silver in the sun, falling backwards, a scream on your lips.” Cole’s eyes are unfocused as he speaks, which Josephine counts as a blessing: he can’t see her flinch.

“Yes. That’s correct.” One of many days from the past year that she will never forget.

“I understand. I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Now that her breathing has steadied, Josephine reaches for the stack of notes she had prepared the afternoon before. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you deliver these to their recipients in Skyhold? They aren’t urgent, but it would be a great help.”

The boy’s somber face brightens. “I can do that!”

Cole is off talking with Varric when Ellana comes in with what Josephine has taken to calling ‘second breakfast’: a platter with sliced fruits, nut meats, and rolls arrayed around a pitcher of water. The Inquisitor can’t stay long – she’s aiding Cullen with some troop exercises outside the walls – but takes a minute to kneel next to her chair and speak to Josephine’s stomach, ending with a kiss pressed to the light silk of her dress. “I’ll be back this afternoon, Josie. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone?” Josephine waves her away with a laugh and light assurances, although her mind turns towards her new helper and she wonders.

When Cole comes back after an hour, it is with a curious expression on his face when he looks at her. Josephine brushes a hand across her mouth, self-conscious. Have the berries stained her lips or teeth?

“The baby is happy,” he says abruptly, plopping down on his favorite armrest. “They were content before, but now they’re happy.” Josephine doesn’t notice her hand unconsciously moving to cradle her stomach as Cole speaks – an instinctive, protective gesture. The boy’s eyes brighten. “A familiar pressure, like a comforting hug. They want to respond, to let you know that they care too.” A thumping kick against her palm has Josephine’s eyes widening as she stares at Cole, speechless. Her other arm drops, curling over her child protectively, but she can’t look away from the blond boy. “They want you to know that they love you too. They know what love is. Love is warmth, and singing, and laughter, and two voices making one melody.”

“Cole.” She can barely get the word out, can barely force her lungs to draw in breath. “Cole, please, stop.” There are tears welling up in her eyes, the hot liquid spilling down her cheeks, but she does nothing to wipe them away. Her gaze is fixed on Cole, even as he turns into nothing more than a yellow and tan blob as her vision blurs.

“I don’t understand.” His voice is plaintive, and she sees the splash of color that is Cole begin to rock back and forth. “They’re happy, they want to tell you that they’re happy. So why are you sad?”

Oh, but she is so much more than  _sad_. She is frightened, relieved, worried, exultant, bewildered, and far too many other emotions for her to ever name, all rolled up into one tight ball. She wishes Ellana were here with her, because she is unsure how much of her reaction is  _herself_ , and how much is her body’s response. But Ellana isn’t here, so it falls to Josephine to understand what Cole is telling her.

Their child can think for itself.  _Is_  thinking for itself. Knows what love is – or at least, what Cole interprets as love from its thoughts – and loves them in return. It is one thing to give your heart to your child, she thinks wildly, knowing that it will be weeks yet until you can finally meet them, and  _completely_  another to hear that the child still growing inside of you is  _aware_. That it  _knows_  you.

Josephine bites her lip, trying desperately to get ahold of herself before she sends Cole into a panic; she is only partially successful. Her arms stay wrapped around her abdomen, hugging the child inside her as best she can and feeling little flutters in response, as she works to process this new information.

Baby steps.

“Cole, did you hear the baby just now?” Her voice is unsteady but clear, and she can see the boy’s tense muscles begin to relax.

“Yes. They heard the other voice, earlier. It made them happy.” _Ellana_.

Her heart does a little flip. “So the baby can tell us apart?”

She thinks he nods – it’s hard to tell with her vision still misting – but he doesn’t go into detail, for which she is grateful. She isn’t sure she could hold herself together if she hears  _how_  the baby recognizes their voices.

Her lungs expand as she takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to center herself once more. She had to repeat the exercise twice more before she feels calm enough to continue. “Thank you, Cole.” She digs in her desk drawer for a handkerchief to wipe her face, resigning herself to reapplying the kohl lining her eyes once more. “Truly, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to help.” Cole’s voice is small, and Josephine feels a strange desire to take the boy in her arms and comfort him.

“You did help. I was simply surprised.” She hugs her stomach tighter again, feels the baby shift in response. Oh, but she wishes Ellana were here. “Could I be alone for an hour, please?” She needs the time to process this new information, without having to monitor her reactions, and that can only be accomplished in solitude. Actually… “Could you inform Leliana that I will be having the aide take over my duties for the next hour? She will know what to do.”

Cole brightens at the task. “Okay!” He hops down and is at the door before she can blink, then hesitates. “Can I come back after?”

So unsure. Her lips curve into a calming smile. “Yes, I would like for you to come back after.” Hopefully the rest of the week won’t be nearly as emotionally jarring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is...slightly unbetaed, at the moment, because I really wanted to get it out. So there may or may not be a few edit and an addition to the last part if I can figure out how to do it. But I've rewritten at least half of this chapter twice now, so I'm slightly sick of playing with it.
> 
> *Turns out I didn't change hardly anything, whoops. I did realize that I forgot to give translations for the phrases I made up (and borrowed) though!  
> Cazzate - Italian for 'bullshit'  
> Ir dirthara - I seek the truth  
> Numin’din - Don't cry  
> Dar’atisha - Be at peace
> 
> Elvish is _really_ fun to play with!


	10. Month Eight: Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected gifts can be the most meaningful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the second _major_ scene is one that didn't even exist in my outline, and then it kind of ended up taking over nearly the whole chapter. Whoops!
> 
> *Also, I know Ellana's line is cheesy as all get-out, but I still regret nothing...I think.*

**Month Eight**

Josephine lets out a sigh as she runs a hand over her stomach for the fourth time in as many minutes. She had known this was coming, had known for months that it was a near certainty, but was it too selfish to hope that she would escape when so many others hadn’t?

Her fingers stutter and settle on the first depression they come across, tracing its length down the – now quite prominent – swell of her abdomen until she reaches her hipbone. It isn’t very long yet, starting just below her navel, but she knows that’s likely to change as the baby continues to grow.

She exhales again and reaches for her cinch and blouse. It is time to start the day, not dwell on the inevitable. Perhaps she will mention her concerns to Ellana tonight – that is, if her beloved doesn’t notice the changes first; she has become almost unnaturally attuned to the alterations of Josephine’s body since her pregnancy began to show.

Josephine doesn’t find it difficult to concentrate on her tasks throughout the day – very few things are capable of interfering with her work ethic – but on more than one occasion she becomes aware of her hand unconsciously rubbing over the lower portion of her abdomen, currently covered by the thick leather of her cinch, as though she could magically erase her discovery.

Well. It seems she cares more about this development than she previously thought.

It is a week before Josephine is uncomfortable enough to approach Ellana, a week in which more marks begin to appear; most are centered below her navel, but a few have begun to creep up the sides of her stomach.

She catches Ellana’s attention one evening as they sit on the couch in their quarters, Ellana reading a book Dorian has given her as Josephine ostensibly works on the week’s schedule, although she finds herself more often staring into the fire. Now is as good a time as any and she braces herself, waiting until the Inquisitor finishes the page she is reading before speaking up. “‘Lana?”

Ellana’s gaze snaps up as she immediately marks her page and sets the volume aside, attention completely focused on the Antivan. “Josie?”

It’s rather disconcerting to be on the receiving end of that intense stare, Josephine muses, shifting uncomfortably. It takes her by surprise each time, and it is little wonder those who came before the Inquisitor for judgement were cowed. This is not an instance where such focus is required, however, and she rests a calming hand on Ellana’s knee. “Relax, ‘Lana. I simply wish for your…opinion.”

That isn’t quite the right word, but she can’t think of how else to phrase it, and the little furrow that develops between Ellana’s eyebrows as the elf wrinkles her forehead in confusion is adorable. “Ah…care to explain?”

Josephine stands up instead of responding, raising the hem of the day’s long fitted tunic over her head until she can shed the garment. At least it is warm in front of the fire as she stands there in her breastband, cinch, and loose leggings, a blessing as they slog through the depths of winter. She sees Ellana’s gaze fix unerringly on the lighter lines that have appeared on her stomach, contrasting oddly with her bronze complexion, and averts her eyes, not wanting to see disgust or aversion on her love’s face – even though she knows, _logically_ , that Ellana would _never_ think such a thing. Her emotions refuses to listen to reason, however, and Josephine frets silently as Ellana continues to examine her newest additions.

A hand reaches towards her finally, stopping just shy of touching her. “May I…?” She hears the tentative question, nods a response that Ellana must see, because a moment later callused fingertips tracing softly over the stretched skin of her stomach, following each line in its entirety. Josephine feels little pinpricks of sensation start up in the wake of that gentle touch, until her whole abdomen is tingling as Ellana finishes her examination. The elf doesn’t remove her hand however; instead, she splays her fingers across the marks and looks up at Josephine, catching and holding her gaze. “When did you notice?”

“A few days ago.” The warmth of Ellana’s palm is comforting, and Josephine unconsciously covers Ellana’s hand with her own, keeping it there. “They’ve been…spreading.” She can’t keep from shifting once more, uncomfortable. She feels self-conscious, just as she had when her pregnancy first began to show. “Mama warned me about stretch marks, I was hoping that maybe since they hadn’t shown for so long…” Her cheeks flush a light red. “I suppose that was naïve.”

“I don’t think so.” Ellana’s voice is steady as she leans forward, pressing a kiss to a particularly long line. “But I wouldn’t call them stretch marks…they’re warrior marks. Battle scars from the most important mission you could _ever_ accomplish.”

Josephine’s free hand moves to tangle in loose locks as her blush deepens. “Oh? And what is that, may I ask?” She knows what Ellana is going to say, but somehow _hearing_ it makes everything more real, reaffirms what is happening to her body in the best way possible.

Ellana’s eyes are full of admiration when she looks up once more. “Creating life.”

* * *

“My dears, it is _wonderful_ to see you again.”

Vivienne has lost none of her presence since leaving Skyhold, Ellana decides, watching as the woman breezes in through the large open doors of the entrance hall. She is just as authoritative as the day she became the first mage to lead the Chantry, refusing to acknowledge those who disputed her appointment as Divine Victoria.

Her customary grandiose horns have been replaced by the traditional headdress of the Divine, but she manages to make the – rather ridiculous, in Ellana’s opinion – accessory look regal. Josephine, standing beside her on the dais as they wait for the Divine to approach – both Josephine _and_ Leliana have insisted that Victoria come to _her_ , since Skyhold is _her_ domain – sucks in an admiring breath. “She certainly draws one’s eye,” the Antivan murmurs, and Ellana has to agree.

Then their view of the mage is interrupted as the Iron Bull steps into her path. He has been grinning ever since Josephine informed them of her arrival. “Hey Viv!” There is an awkward silence – one so very common to all of their interactions – and the Qunari swiftly backtracks. “Er, Madame.” An arched eyebrow, and he tries once more. “Er…Divine?”

She finally takes pity on him. “Victoria will suffice, dear.” She sidesteps gracefully, patting the large warrior on shoulder as she passes by. “We shall talk later.”

There are no more impediments as the Divine – it will take a _lot_ of effort to stop thinking of her as ‘Vivienne’ – continues until she stands in front of the Inquisitor. Even though she has to tilt her head up slightly to meet Ellana’s eyes, there is no diminishing of her presence. “Inquisitor.” She turns slightly to face Josephine. “Ambassador.” The corners of her lips turn up in a reserved smile. “Let me congratulate you on your impending parenthood.”

The wording is just so…Vivienne. Smug, courteous, and to the point, but making it seem as though she is doing _you_ a favor. Ellana has to clear her throat to remove the tickle of laughter before she inclines her head. “Divine Victoria. You honor us with your visit and your words.” She didn’t even have to have Josephine coach her in what to say for this meeting – after over two years of being the Inquisitor, she is able to navigate most of the simpler political exchanges on her own.

Is that a glint of approval in Victoria’s eyes?

“I hope your journey was not too arduous,” Ellana continues, then pauses. What else is she supposed to say?

Thankfully, Divine Victoria fills the short silence. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle. I have traveled in much worse weather without incident.” Her small smile morphs into something more genuine. “I would, however, be appreciative of a fire, if the Ambassador would be kind enough to instruct me as to the location of my quarters?”

It is Josephine’s turn to take over, and Ellana feels her shoulders slump in relief. Politics – no matter how used to it she has become – is tiring.

“I would be glad to _show_ you, Most Holy. If you would follow me?”

And, point to Josephine. Vivienne – _Victoria_ – yields gracefully, waving a careless hand at her retinue to pick up their burdens and trail behind the two women.

 

Supper that evening is a lavish affair, a banquet – nearly rivalling the one Josephine had organized for Corypheus’s defeat – arranged to welcome the Divine to Skyhold. The tables have been rearranged specifically for this visit, with a ‘head table’ placed perpendicular to all others, just below the Inquisitor’s throne, and plush chairs for seats instead of the usual wooden benches.

The Inquisitor, her advisors, and – most of – her companions sit there, since they are the most prestigious members of the Inquisition. From her position at the head of the table – one she is utterly uncomfortable with, still – Ellana has to stifle a grin. At _least_ an hour of discussion had gone into the seating arrangements for these nine people; one wouldn’t think it should matter, but apparently having people try to kill each other across a table isn’t advised. At least Josephine is quite practiced at this, having reassured Ellana that the courts of Orlais were _much_ worse; there, you didn’t sit rivals next to each other for fear of them poisoning their neighbor’s food.

Ellana had smiled and nodded, giving insight where she could as to who could be next to whom – and who they should exclude. It is apparently a given that the guest of honor sit at the host’s right hand, and she refuses to have Josephine sit any further away, so the Ambassador is to her left.

Bull is placed next to the Most Holy, since – for some reason known only to Dirthamen – they actually get along, with Dorian next to the warrior because it is either there or across from Bull, and Ellana has _no_ desire to play mediator between the mage’s acerbic tongue and Victoria’s cutting remarks.

Varric fills the last seat along the right side of the table, and directly across from him is Cassandra. It is no longer dangerous for the two to be in close proximity; they have fallen into an easy camaraderie that could even be called friendship, although the dwarf still takes great pleasure in needling the Seeker.

Leliana is beside the former Right Hand, and beside _her_ is Cullen to round out the table. Actually…it had escaped her notice up until this point, but the four founding members of the Inquisition sit on one side of the table, facing the Divine. Was it deliberate? A frown tugs as Ellana’s features as she considers. Possibly. She wouldn’t put it past her beloved to be making some sort of silent statement, and Vivienne – _Victoria_ – is more than adept at The Game.

Well, she’ll ask Josephine later.

“Are the quarters to your satisfaction?” Ellana asks, a polite smile on her lips as she turns towards the Most Holy. She knew how to interact with Vivienne, had fought alongside Vivienne, but this new title and station leave her unsure; hopefully Victoria will give her a cue.

“They are. I commend the Ambassador on her tastes, the décor is quite charming.” Well, that’s no help. Victoria’s face is set in the cool mask of Orlesian politics, and Ellana despairs. “How ever did you arrange for such exquisite furnishings, my dear?”

The Inquisitor turns her gaze to Josephine, watching enviously as her love smiles with easy confidence. “It was no trouble. I believe you accomplished the same feat nearly two years ago.”

The Divine’s answering laugh is genuine, and Ellana feels her shoulders relax slightly. “That I did.”

Further conversation is cut off as platters of food are placed on the table before them, a lavish meal that the kitchens have outdone themselves to prepare. Ellana takes her portions eagerly, digging into her meal the moment her plate is full; the others are following her example – although it is easy to see who is used to fine dining and who isn’t, as she looks down the table – save one.

“Most Holy?”

Vivienne simply raises a hand in response, summoning one of the two Templars that guard the table – accompanied by two Inquisition soldiers of course – and gestures to her plate. The man takes a morsel without further instruction, popping it into his mouth and swallowing. After nearly thirty seconds of completely awkward silence, he nods. “It is safe, Your Perfection.” Only then does he retreat to his former position.

Ellana isn’t sure if she should be offended or not; a glance at Leliana is no help – the redhead seems to be trying to refrain from bursting into laughter, if the way her lips press together is any indication – and Josephine is equally unhelpful, staring at the Divine with narrowed eyes as though trying to puzzle out a new discovery, food temporarily forgotten.

She decides to go with her gut. “Should I be worried about being poisoned in my own castle?” she asks lightly, placing her fork down in a deliberate movement. “Perhaps you know something we do not?”

Divine Victoria is unconcerned. “Not at all my dear, but one cannot be too careful. I have enemies amongst the Chantry still, who would no doubt like to see me perish. Please, don’t let me keep you from your meal.”

Not for the first time – and she is sure it won’t be the last – Ellana thanks the Creators that neither Sera nor Cole dine at the table with them. Fen’Harel only knows how either of them would react to what just happened. She just hopes the rest of the meal will pass quickly.

 

“Chin up, darling.”

Ellana opens her eyes wearily, but leaves her head resting against the cool wall of the corridor she has escaped to. It has been a _long_ morning and part of the afternoon, meeting with the advisors and the Divine about Chantry politics and how to handle rebellious fractions. Her mind is _exhausted_ , and her body seems to agree. “Mm?”

Divine Victoria, by contrast, looks as composed as when they first started talking. “You shall have to build up your stamina, my dear. Politics waits for no one.”

She waves her hand feebly, acknowledging the point. The influence of the Inquisition has only continued to grow sin Corypheus’s defeat and now, with nearly all of the rifts having been sealed, its place in the world is changing. Soon, she will have to be a _political_ leader. Ugh.

“Josephine, darling.” Vivienne – fenedhis, her name is _Victoria_ now! – raises her voice so the advisors still in the former-War Room can hear her. “I believe the Inquisitor could use a break. Shall we reconvene tomorrow?”

Her beloved steps out of the room – it never ceases to amaze Ellana, that Josephine’s presence is now preceded by her stomach, not even at its full growth – and immediately finds her, concerned eyes taking in the way Ellana sags against the wall. “Yes, that may be best,” Josephine agrees after a moment, and the elf feels a wave of relief wash through her. Maybe she will think clearer tomorrow, after a good night’s rest. Of course, there is still the remainder of the day to get through, and the Divine to play host to.

Ellana pushes away from the wall, squaring her shoulders. “Is there anything you need, Most Holy?”

She is _very_ familiar with the thin smirk that tugs at Victoria’s lips, and mentally prepares herself for whatever manipulations the woman is about to unleash. “I will come to your quarters in an hour. What I need can be discussed then.” Victoria leaves those cryptic words hanging in the air as she turns and walks away, her Templar guards falling into step behind her.

“Well.” Ellana turns her head to look at Josephine, who simply raises one eyebrow in return. “If we only have an hour before the Divine graces us with her presence once more, perhaps we should get moving.”

Ellana nods her agreement, already thinking longingly of their soft bed. An hour-long nap sounds like a wonderful idea before she has to cross verbal swords with Vivienne – _Victoria_ – once more.

 

A knock on the door has Ellana rising to her feet with a groan. Josephine has ensured that she not oversleep, which means she was woken out of a very nice nap five minutes ago. The elf turns back to the bed and offers her hands to Josephine, who takes them with a smile and uses the leverage to stand up as well, before heading to answer the door.

There isn’t a second knock – Divine Victoria would not stoop so low as to show impatience – but Ellana is rewarded with an arched eyebrow and a _tsk_ when she finally greets their guest.

After a day of discussing politics, Ellana doesn’t feel like participating in any more verbal maneuvering. “So, what do you need?”

“Straight to the point, I see.” Victoria’s tone is sardonic, more like the Vivienne she had known a year ago. Ellana watches, confused, as a Templar carrying two cloth parcels follows the Divine past her and further into the room. “Josephine, my dear, I would love to see what you have done for the child’s nursery.”

And just like that, the Divine has taken charge of the ‘meeting’. Ellana simply shrugs and follows the two women – and the Templar, _why_ is he here? – through the adjoining room and into the nursery; _she_ certainly isn’t going to try and wrest back control. Fighting Vivienne was always like fighting a force of nature – you inevitably fail.

The room has more furnishings than when they had initially arranged it; there is now a couch in front of the fireplace – long enough for either of them to stretch out fully for a nap, if needed – with a plush rug in front, and an extremely well-padded chair in the corner near the rocking chair, opposite the cradle. There are also drapes on the window, a few small tables along the walls to hold candles and other items, and a carpet – much larger than the hearth rug – covering a majority of the stone floor in the center of the room.

The mobile hanging above the cradle brings a smile to her lips every time she sees it; truly, it is the _best_ surprise she could ever have received. Apparently Victoria is just as taken, since she spends a minute examining the various halla before moving on to survey the rest of the room.

“This is quite elegant, my dear.” Divine Victoria looks around for a moment, then nods decisively. “I see you didn’t let Dorian exercise his…interesting tastes in decoration. A wise choice.”

“He isn’t that bad!” Ellana protests, more in support of her friend than actual affront. _She_ didn’t agree with most of the Tevinter mage’s ideas for furniture either.

“Not when it comes to dressing himself,” Victoria agrees. “But his choices of décor leave much to be desired. Now, do take a seat.”

Ellana obeys, moving to sit in the rocking chair, but Josephine declines. “Thank you, but I would prefer to stand.”

The Divine takes her refusal in stride, simply shrugging and gesturing for the diplomat to stand beside Ellana. “I have gifts for you, my dears.”

Josephine’s eyes widen. “Oh, you needn’t –”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Of _course_ I brought gifts.” She turns to her Templar follower without further ado, taking the first parcel he offers her. She extends the package towards the Inquisitor with both hands, and the elf takes it hesitantly.

Ellana stares the package, uncertain. Is she supposed to open it now, or wait for Vivienne – _Victoria_ , it is the Divine giving them these gifts, not her former companion – to leave? Her head tilts to look up at Josephine beseechingly, hoping for answers.

“Open it, my love.”

Directives, she can follow. Ellana picks at the knot holding the cord tight around the bundle, the little bit of nail she has making quick work of it. At least the binding isn’t tight. Josephine reaches down once she has removed the cord, hands tugging at the cloth wrapping until its contents are revealed.

She isn’t really sure what to make of the gift. Her first impression is a sea of frilly white lace, and a second glance doesn’t help to resolve her confusion. “Ah…what is it?”

Victoria lets out a little laugh. “Hold it up and all will become clear.”

Ellana does so, grasping at what seems to be the top of the fabric and raising her arms. It looks like some sort of skirt – albeit somewhat see-through since it consists only of lace, as well as being far too wide at the waist – with a drawstring along the upper hem. She doesn’t feel any more enlightened.

Thankfully, Josephine seems to understand its use. “It’s wonderful, Most Holy, thank you.”

The Divine waves her hand dismissively. “Call me Victoria, darling. You’ve earned the right.”

Ellana half expects the Templar to speak up, but it seems Victoria has trained him well – his face doesn’t even twitch. Well, she has other things to be confused about. “Forgive me, but I still don’t understand.”

The superior smirk that is directed at her is one she is _quite_ familiar with. “Josephine, my dear, would you help me demonstrate?”

Her lover giggles, taking the strange cloth out of her hands and walking towards the cradle against the opposite wall. “It’s a skirt, ‘Lana.”

Somehow, that doesn’t make things any more clear. “Ah…” Then Victoria takes the other side of the circular cloth and the two women drape it over the cradle, and suddenly it clicks. “Oh.” She blinks. “A skirt.” Her vallaslin scrunches as she frowns. “ _Why_?”

Josephine pauses, her own brows furrowing, before turning to look at the Divine. Victoria has no such problem. “It’s for decoration, darling. Doesn’t it look much more elegant now?”

Ellana actually finds it rather overdone, and it’s covering those wonderful carvings they had requested, but she knows better than to voice _that_ opinion. “It does.” She will take the issue up with Josephine later. Hopefully her love will agree that they should ‘repurpose’ the cloth…

When Josephine makes to walk towards back towards Ellana, Victoria holds out a hand authoritatively. “Stay there. We aren’t finished.” Josephine looks mystified but obeys, returning to her position next to the crib. “Inquisitor, darling, join your paramour, if you would?”

Ellana feels her lips twitching into a crooked grin as she rises from the rocking chair and crosses the room to stand next to Josephine, automatically entwining their hands. She doubts Victoria will ever cease ordering them about, but she doesn’t mind. At least, as long as it doesn’t go too far.

The Divine turns away for a moment, fussing with the discarded cloth of her previous present, and Ellana takes the opportunity to give Josephine a light kiss and place a hand gently on her stomach. “How are you doing?”

“We’re fine, ‘Lana,” Josephine’s tone is exasperated, but her smile is indulgent. “You can feel for yourself, no?”

Indeed, she can sense the baby shifting around under Josephine’s skin. No longer does she rely on hard kicks to feel their child; the baby is large enough that nearly every movement presses against some part of Josephine’s stomach. It makes for interesting viewing, some nights.

A pointed cough has Ellana withdrawing sheepishly, although she keeps her fingers tangled with Josephine’s. “Ah, sorry.”

Victoria accepts the apology as though it were her due, stepping forward to press a larger bundle of cloth against Ellana’s chest; she has to bring her free hand up to clasp it quickly as the Divine lets go. “I believe you will find this one quite useful, Inquisitor, unlike its counterpart.”

A light flush rushes to her cheeks, and Ellana can’t meet Victoria’s eyes. She had forgotten exactly how perceptive the woman is. Oops.

Josephine’s hand slips from hers as the Antivan reaches for the cord, and Ellana angles the parcel so she can better reach. A few deft movements and the wrapping is falling away, to reveal the softest, plushest, most vibrant material Ellana has _ever_ seen. It is a bright crimson red, almost seeming to glow where sunlight from the open window hits, and she is mesmerized. Even better, it is folded in such a way that a design in shining golden thread – the Eye of the Inquisition – is centered, contrasting wonderfully with its background.

Ellana frees one arm so she can touch the material – it is even softer than it looks, if that were possible – wondering what it is. Josephine seems to be thinking the same thing, since she grasps the cloth and holds it up, allowing gravity to unfold the material.

It turns out to be a blanket, not much wider than the length of one arm, and maybe half an arm-span long. _This_ present, she understands the purpose of, and Ellana turns to Victoria with a beaming smile. “Thank you! It’s _beautiful._ ” And it truly is; the elf helps Josephine lay it in the cradle, just the way it will cover their child in only a couple more months.

Victoria seems mollified, Ellana’s reaction to her previous gift forgiven. “I’m glad you appreciate it, dear. I thought you would. It’s Dales Loden wool, you know.”

No, she didn’t know, and honestly the name means little to nothing to her, but Ellana just nods as though she cares. She feels slightly overwhelmed from Victoria’s presents, although not as bad as when she and Josephine had gone shopping in Val Royeaux. But she – they? – hadn’t expected any gifts for the baby from the Divine, and the second one is actually _thoughtful_. She can actually picture it in use, wrapped around a squirming body, and her heart swells slightly at the mental image.

A sharp clap dispels her reverie, however. Victoria is already moving towards the door, her Templar shadow a step behind, and gesturing to them. “Come, my dears, we aren’t done yet.”

Creators. There’s _more_?

Ellana sends Josephine an apprehensive look – that is fully returned – and tentatively follows the Divine back through the doorway to their bedroom. When she draws up short suddenly, only a few steps into the room, she feels Josephine bump into her, the swell of their baby pressing against her back for a moment. She reaches back in absent apology, but is incapable of taking her eyes off the sight before her.

There is a line of Templars in their room, but it is what they’re holding that draws her attention. It’s a woven tapestry – a _long_ woven tapestry – stretching nearly two thirds of the room, and upon it…upon it is depicted the story of the most harrowing and stressful year of her life, from beginning to end, in excruciating detail. Not a single aspect is left out, as far as she can tell: she sees the sickly, jagged, green glow of the Breach, the terror and hatred on the faces of the Grey Wardens at Adamant, the jagged mountains of stone that are thrust into the sky by the Darkspawn magister. All the main events are present – and Ellana counts herself lucky that Victoria didn’t take it upon herself to put the details of her courting of Josephine into the tapestry as well.

Or perhaps she has spoken too soon – a blush comes to her cheeks as she spots a tableau of her duel in Val Royeaux nestled in between Adamant and Halamshiral, although there seem to have been liberties taken with her outfit. Well, at least it fits in with those worn at the Winter Palace.

“Andraste preserve us.” It is a whisper from just behind her shoulder, and Ellana turns her head to see Josephine peering over her collarbone at the tapestry. Her eyes are wide as they trace from one edge to the other, taking in the details of the weaving and embroidery. “This would take… _months_ , at least, and that’s with many skilled weavers, not to mention the design _alone_ …” She is mumbling to herself, but what phrases Ellana catches are enough to boggle her mind. Such a massive undertaking…

“I wanted you to have something to commemorate the truly extraordinary path you have traveled, Inquisitor.” Victoria’s voice is sincere, with no trace of mockery – and only the slightest thread of smugness – that Ellana can detect. “It will be legendary, one day.” Her mouth twists into a grimace of distaste. “And that…mystery of an elf never finished his frescoes, abstract as they were.”

Ellana continues to stare at the tapestry, her mind curiously blank. She knows the many trials the Inquisition had overcome by heart, has seen Solas’s paintings in the rotunda, but to see them so…vividly described, in such a sequence, brings a whole new level of _impossibility_ to the events.

As Varric had once told her: “Have I mentioned that the shit that happens to you is crazy? Either you’re guided by the hand of some higher power, or you have the _worst_ luck. You were saved from the explosion that leveled a mountaintop, and fell out of the Fade. You travelled through time. Faced down one of the ancient magisters who started the Blights. Had a mountain fall on you. _And lived_. Single-handedly saved the Orlesian Empire. Stopped an army of demons. Whatever in the Maker’s name happened in the Temple of Elfy Shit. _One_ of those things would be impossible. All of them together? That’s a miracle.”

Experiencing the events, she had focused on surviving each conflict and moving onto the next goal, the details of each trial quickly forgotten in the wake of the next. Hearing them from Varric, she had to stifle a laugh at her list of bad luck. It sounded like something out of a horror novel. But _seeing_ them – that brought a whole new level of realism. Now her mind cannot blur the details, cannot leave out the degree of peril. But…she is grateful to Vivienne – Victoria. Because now she never has to worry about forgetting what she went through, and how so many different groups had joined together and labored to save all of Thedas. It is laid in indelible dyes and interwoven threads: the story of the Inquisition.

A warm hand clasping her own draws Ellana’s mind back to the present, and when she finally meets Victoria’s expectant gaze, it is with fervent gratitude. “There are no words for what this gift means.”

“Then you should save your breath, my dear.” The chastisement is kind, and Ellana smiles at Victoria. That is Vivienne’s way of saying ‘You’re welcome’. “I believe you will need it soon enough.”

Wait, what?

Josephine finally steps around Ellana’s shoulder to stand beside her as the Templars move off to the side with the tapestry, rolling it up carefully around sturdy wooden poles that were leaning against a wall.  “Pardon?”

In response, Victoria hands a small parcel to each of them. “I believe you will find that not all grand gifts are large, my dears.”

That is quite cryptic. Ellana shares a look of confusion with Josephine before they each open their gifts, unsure of what to expect. Both contain intricately carved wooden boxes: Ellana’s has the symbol of the Dalish on the lid, and Josephine’s has the Montilyet crest. They’re beautiful, but when Ellana hesitates to examine the boxes more closely, the Divine makes an impatient sound. “Open them.”

Ellana decides to wait until Josephine has opened hers first; nestled inside, on a bed of velvet, is what looks like…a necklace? When the Antivan holds it up, she sees it is, indeed, a necklace. It’s quite elegant, a swirl of silverite vines embracing a smooth circle of dawnstone, but…why is Victoria giving Josephine jewelry?

The thought has her hastily opening her own gift – as she half-suspected, it too contains a necklace. Hers is silverite shaped into a tree, with a dawnstone background held in place by elegant twists of the branches around and behind the stone.

It seems Josephine mirrors her confusion once again – Vivienne must be getting such a thrill out of their reactions. Ellana muses – and steps forward. “They’re lovely, Victoria, but…may I ask why you are giving us necklaces?”

“I’m sure you have deduced that these are no mere ornamentation, darling.” The Divine sounds _quite_ smug. “Allow me to reveal the missing piece.”

She holds up a box of her own, not as intricately carved as their own – it is simpler, with engravings only along the edges and corners, leaving empty surfaces on each face. Victoria opens the box with a flourish, allowing them to see what it contains.

It is a third necklace. The stone isn’t as large as their own, maybe a fifth of the size and set in the center of a mesmerizing pattern of circling silverite; it is flat, allowing them to see the room through the gaps between spiraling arms, but it is just as elegant as the other two. When Ellana furrows her brows to look closer – Victoria obligingly stepping forward so she can see better – she notices that the stone is nevarrite, not dawnstone like their own necklaces. Why the difference? Vivienne never does anything without a reason.

Victoria doesn’t wait for them to ask this time. “It took me a few months to craft these, you know. The necklaces were easy to obtain, but what I wished to do had not yet been divined.” She chuckles at her own joke. “So you shall be the only possessors of this treasure, my dears.”

The statement hangs in the air for a moment before Ellana prompts the mage. “Which is…?”

“A way to tell if your child is in danger, when you aren’t present.” When she is met with blank silence, Victoria sighs. “Think of it as a safety measure. If the child hurts themselves, or is in emotional distress, the pendants will warn you.”

Oh. _Oh_. Ellana feels her heart clench as the impact of Victoria’s words seeps in, and she turns automatically to Josephine. Her lover has brought a hand to her mouth, and her eyes are full of tears just beginning to spill over. After all they have seen in the last two years…well. The dangerous situations their imaginations conjure up are enough to make for many sleepless nights. But this gift – this gift is enough to bring back at least _some_ peace of mind.

“H-How?” There is a lump in her throat, one that swallowing doesn’t move, and her voice is thick. Beside her, Josephine has lowered her necklace and is cradling their child with both hands, staring down at the swell of her stomach with tears running down her face, and Ellana feels the strong urge to wrap her arms around her love. But it is important that they understand exactly how these necklaces work, so she resists.

“For physical pain, the stone will vibrate,” Victoria explains. Her voice is softer, less like the aloof mage Ellana had known for most of their time in Skyhold, and more of the person she had been after Bastien’s death. “The stronger the vibration, the worse the pain. Emotional distress will heat the stone; if it is quite hot…well.” She clears her throat. “I have set the threshold rather low at the moment, but it is adjustable. I will teach you how, Inquisitor.”

“How do we activate it?” That is Josephine, her voice clear and steady despite the wetness still on her cheeks.

“A drop of blood from the wearer will link it irrevocably. I would suggest you begin wearing your own pendants very soon, to get used to the sensation.” It is sound advice, and Ellana plans on doing just that this evening.

 “Thank you, Victoria.” Josephine wraps an arm around her waist as she speaks, affirming and reinforcing Ellana’s words. “This means…it means the world to us.”

“I am glad you approve, my dears.” The smile Victoria gives them is free of any superiority, and Ellana knows she will always remember this moment. “I do believe I have overstayed my welcome, however. Inquisitor, may I speak with you outside? It will only be a moment.”

When Victoria sails out of the room, Ellana turns to Josephine and embraces her, gently pulling the Antivan’s head to rest on her shoulder, feeling arms wend around her back in return. She doesn’t know what to say in the wake of what has just happened, and so settles instead for simply standing and breathing in Josephine’s scent, letting it ground her.

Josephine pulls back after a minute, pressing on Ellana’s shoulders. “Go. It would be rude to keep Victoria waiting, especially now.”

Ellana is reluctant to release her beloved, but knows Josephine is right. She hands her wooden box to the other woman with a sigh, although she keeps the necklace with her. It is _never_ going to leave her possession.

She finds the Divine waiting just outside the suite, still holding the necklace meant for their child.

“Close the door, darling.”

 Ellana frowns, but does as Victoria requests. She has given up asking ‘why’ by now. “Is this about how to adjust the spell?”

“Yes. But first, I wish to inform you of something else.” A pause to ensure she is listening. “I know you, darling. You are protective of those you care about, especially your dear Ambassador. So, to save you unnecessary worry, I have built a secondary function to your own pendant.” She grasps the hand holding the necklace, raising it into the air so the pendant dangles between them. “The stone will react the same as its partner, but changes color to show who is in distress. Red is the child, clear is your paramour. Understand?”

Ellana feels her heart seize all over again. Victoria’s insight is unexpected, and she can feel herself losing control of her emotions as she is overwhelmed. “I…there are no words for my gratitude. Ma serannas, ma falon, from the bottom of my heart.”

“You are quite welcome, my dear.” She pauses for a moment, giving Ellana time to collect herself, before continuing. “Now, to adjust the threshold…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters practically write themselves. This...was not one of those chapters. At least not most of it. I finally got on a roll towards the end though!
> 
> *Also, without [penandscoot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/penandscoot) this story would be going _nowhere_. She's my idea generator and my muse and my proofreader and my beta all wrapped into one package, and she is _wonderful_.*
> 
> Here are the references I used for the necklaces:  
> [Josephine's](http://chicsstyle.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/0027559_hot-diamonds-mother-of-pearl-orb-pendant.jpeg)  
> [Ellana's](http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0126/0742/products/Tree-of-Life-front.jpg?v=1432497409)  
> [Baby's](http://www.duncan-house.com/_dh/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/Small-Trescle-Pendant-w-Amethyst1.jpg)


	11. Month Nine: Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected visitors can bring very many emotions with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about those chapters that write themselves....the first 3000 words of this one were finished in _two days_....and then my brain decided to up and "nope" on me, and concentrating on writing was...not so easy. I had hoped to get this out a few days ago, but a serious amount of road trip in the last four days saw to _that_ not happening. Hopefully the next one won't take as long!

**Month Nine**

“Inquisitor!”

Ellana looks up from her conversation with Varric, brows furrowing slightly. If she didn’t know better, she would say the soldier running towards her sounded mildly panicked. But there hasn’t been reason to panic for months, so…

“Inquisitor!”

“What is it, soldier?” Her voice is stern, the same tone she had used to command the soldiers at Adamant, and again at the Arbor Wilds. (Nobody but Josie has to know that she had spent a good two weeks with the Commander, developing a decent field voice.)

The man snaps to attention. “Commander Cullen asks that you join him on the ramparts immediately.”

Obviously there isn’t another hell-dragon about to breathe down fire on them, or Cullen’s message would have been much different. So Ellana shrugs and dismisses the soldier, then turns back to Varric. “I’m sorry, it seems we’ll have to continue this later.”

The dwarf waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Boss. It’ll keep.”

She leaves him with a nod, grabbing a cloak from beside the front door and throwing it around her shoulders as she walks fast – but not overly-hurried – towards the walls surrounding Skyhold. They give a fine view of the mountains, and Ellana is certain that’s why Cullen has asked her there, but…what has he seen that requires her immediate attention?

Ellana finds the Commander standing upright next to his office, a spyglass to one eye as he surveys the land – well, snow, since it _is_ the dead of winter – below. The metal must be freezing, but at least the man’s hands are protected by thick leather gloves trimmed with – and she has to stifle a laugh when she notices – the same fur as his fabled mantle.

“You asked to see me, Commander?”

Cullen barely flinches – a testament to his nerves, since any noises she may have made are covered by the wind whistling over the battlements – and turns to greet her. “Inquisitor. There’s something I think you should see.”

Well, that’s cryptic. She takes the offered spyglass, scanning over the crags and dips of the mountains, the mostly snow-covered glens nestled into rocky hollows, and the caravan slowly wending up the pass. “Am I looking for something in particular…?”

“The caravan.”

She refocuses her attention on the line of wagons and horses, squinting slightly against the eye-piece. There are fewer merchant caravans in the winter, but even the harsh weather doesn’t deter some traders and pilgrims from making the long trek to Skyhold, so the caravan isn’t _unexpected_. Why, then, would Cullen be focusing on…

Oh. _Oh_. Ellana blinks, pulls the spyglass away to rub at her eye with one hand, and looks again. Well. That _is_ unexpected.

She clears her throat. “I see why you called me.”

“Did you know about this?” His voice is plaintive, begging her to answer in the affirmative.

“Ah…”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen runs a hand over his face, muttering into his glove. “I’ll take care of the soldiers, but the rest is on you. I don’t want to get tangled up in this…” He trails off, obviously searching for the correct word to describe the imminent episode and coming up short.

“Chaos?” Ellana supplies helpfully into the silence. “Mayhem?”

“…nonsense,” Cullen decides. “I leave our unexpected guest to your tender mercies.”

“You’re too kind.” Now it’s Ellana’s turn to sigh and run a hand over her face. “I’ll figure something out. How long do you think ‘til they arrive?”

The Commander looks out at the caravan again, then at the road they have yet to traverse. “A half an hour, maybe less if the good weather keeps up.”

“Mm.” That’s not enough time to prepare Josephine for the storm that is about to descend upon their heads.

“Well.” Ellana claps Cullen on the shoulder. “I believe you have some arrangements to see to, Commander.” She leaves him to his muttered curses, descending the rampart stairs cautiously. If she is to handle their _visitor_ , she has preparations of her own to get done.

* * *

Ellana is waiting in the courtyard when the caravan begins filing through the gate, each wagon checked over by the guards before being allowed to continue. Anyone riding is directed towards Master Dennet and the stables, and Ellana tracks her quarry’s progress through the hubbub of arrival. They aren’t hard to spot, bundled up in a thick cloak of fine material, the hood pushed back to bare distinctive features. Two guards accompany the horse and rider, one guiding the mount as the other clears a path.

It is a simple for matter Ellana to ease through the crowd to meet them at the stable and take the reins from the first guard. “I can take it from here, gentlemen.”

The men look like they’re about to protest – they aren’t Inquisition soldiers, after all, so why should they listen to her? – but a happy squeal from the rider is enough to silence them.

“Ellana!”

The mage suppresses a sigh at the enthusiastic greeting, fixing a smile on her face instead. “Lady Montilyet.”

The noblewoman pouts. “You aren’t surprised! Did you know I was coming? Does Josephine know? I _told_ Mama not to write her…”

“No, Josephine doesn’t know.” Ellana drops the reins of the placid mount and moves to help Yvette down from the saddle. “But it’s hard to hide things from the Commander of the Inquisition.”

Yvette’s expressive face lights up. “The Commander is here? May I meet him? Again? He must have so many more wonderful stories to tell since the Ball, perhaps…”

For the moment, she intends to spare Cullen the whirlwind that is Yvette Montilyet. “Maybe later. Shouldn’t you go see Josephine first?”

“Oh, of course!” She begins to walk away, and Ellana hastily signals one of Dennet’s stable boys – the son of a refugee, now old enough to help around Skyhold – to care for the horse, before quickly catching up to Yvette.

The noblewoman is already talking a mile a minute. “You have to come see the gardens, Ellana! Mama let me do _whatever_ I wanted with them, and I can’t wait for spring so I can paint all the flowers, and Papa _promised_ he would paint them too! And I brought some of my art for you and Josephine to see, so she can stop complaining how I _never_ finish a painting...”

Ellana lets her continue uninterrupted, making occasional sounds of agreement as she escorts Yvette up towards the castle and the unsuspecting Josephine. They pass through the hall unaccosted, only garnering a few confused glances from various pilgrims loitering near the tables.

“And how is Josephine? Is she uncomfortable? She says in her letters that it’s difficult to sleep, but that was months ago, and –”

Ellana places one hand on Yvette’s back and the other on the doorknob to Josephine’s office, and smiles at the younger woman. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?” She has the door opened and Yvette propelled inside in one swift move, barely pausing to chirp “Hi Josie!” before closing the door firmly behind the noblewoman and pressing one ear to the wood. Never let it be said the Inquisitor is above eavesdropping on what promises to be good entertainment.

* * *

Josephine’s day thus far has been…uncomfortable, to say the least. First she had to have Ellana help her stand up, because she simply could _not_ manage to shift her weight enough to get off the bed, _then_ it was more of a struggle than it should have been to get her cinch, clothes, and sash on because her fingers felt so clumsy and wouldn’t cooperate, and _now_ her stomach has been cramping off and on for the last half an hour and Aeryn has _told_ her that it’s nothing to worry about, it’s just her body preparing for labor in a few weeks, but it _hurts_ and it is _so_ very hard to concentrate on her work!

And of course the world isn’t done with her yet: a commotion outside her door has Josephine looking up just in time to see Ellana push a richly dressed woman into her office and disappear behind the closed door. It takes a moment for her mind to interpret what her eyes are telling her.

“ _Yvette_?”

What is her sister doing here? Yvette should be in Antiva still, attending lessons and preparing for the salon that she made Josephine promise – a _year_ ago – to attend when she _finally_ got around to arranging it. She certainly _shouldn’t_ be in the Maker-forsaken mountains in the dead of winter!

“Josephine!” Yvette seems blissfully unaware of the implications of her presence. “How are you? How is the baby? You are due soon, yes? Mama told me you have another month –”

Josephine manages to regain control of her faculties and cuts her sister off with questions of her own. _More important questions_. “Yvette, what are you doing here? How did you get here? _Why_ are you here?”

“I came to visit you, Josephine!” The answer is so _guileless_ , so… _Yvette_. As though there isn’t a single problem with this decision. “And to meet my niece or nephew when they are born!” She releases a happy sigh, hands coming up to clasp under her chin. “I cannot _wait_ to be an aunt! Oh, the baby will be so cute –”

Josephine can feel her ire – cultivated over the course of the day, as _every_ little thing works to irritate her – coming to a head, focusing on her _completely_ oblivious sister. “You should have told me you were coming! You can’t just, just _show up_ one day without warning, Yvette! Especially at the headquarters of a military organization!”

She would be up and pacing about right now if she thought she could get out of her chair without issue, and that only fans the flames of her anger higher. “Now we have to find you a room, assign you escorts, arrange for meals… _Honestly_ , Yvette, did you _ever_ consider what –”

Josephine is so lost in her rant that she doesn’t even notice the door opening again behind her sister; doesn’t notice until Ellana slips into the room and grabs Yvette by the arm, hustling her away and calling back over her shoulder, “It’s okay, Josie, I took care of it! I’ll just take her there now…”

Then the door is shut, and Josephine is left, emotions still roiling, staring at the closed wooden door.

* * *

When Ellana returns to Josephine’s office an hour later, she eases the door open, fully expecting a rant, and Josephine doesn’t disappoint.

“Ellana, did you know Yvette was coming? How could you –”

“Josie…” Ellana crosses the room to prop her hip against the desk, watching with interest as Josephine’s hands clench and unclench as she gesticulates her agitation.

“– keep that from me? You can’t just –”

“Josie…”

“– _sneak_ my family into the castle! I have a right to –”

“Josie.”

Josephine’s mouth snaps shut when Ellana grabs her hands, stilling their movement. “Yvette didn’t tell anyone she was coming. Cullen and I only found out two hours ago, okay?”

The Ambassador crumples, falling back against her chair like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “Why would she come _now_?” Her voice is muted, chin pressed into the heavy wool of her top. “Why didn’t she _tell_ me? I could have arranged something…”

Ellana squeezes Josephine’s hands where they still rest in hers, the Antivan’s arms limply stretching the distance between them. “She said she wanted to surprise you. I know she should have told us, ma sa’lath, but didn’t you say you wanted your family here with you?”

“I _do_ , but...” Josephine turns her head against her shoulder, and Ellana catches the glint of tears before they are wiped away by the thick cloth. “Oh, this is so like Yvette.” An exasperated sigh as she tugs at her hand until Ellana frees it so she can grope for a handkerchief. “How did she convince Mama to let her come alone?” A pause, and Josephine shoots upright in her chair once more, grabbing for Ellana’s hand. “She told Mama, didn’t she?”

Ellana strokes a thumb soothingly over the back of Josephine’s hand. “Yes, she told me your mother knows.”

“Oh. Good.” The diplomat slumps in her seat once more, then tilts her head up so she can frown at Ellana. “Where did you put her?”

The Inquisitor stifles a laugh. She _knew_ Josephine wouldn’t be able to resist knowing every detail. “I gave her that free room overlooking the garden, the one that we fixed up last. And don’t worry, Cullen already found places for the guards in the barracks. It’s all taken care of.”

Josephine’s eyes are suspiciously full, but Ellana doesn’t get the chance to look closer because the Antivan has pulled her into a tight embrace. She returns the hug just as tightly, not caring that she is bent awkwardly over the arm of the chair, and strokes a hand over Josephine’s hair when she buries her head in the crook of Ellana’s neck.

“Why are you so wonderful?” The words are muffled against her shoulder, and now Ellana is _certain_ Josephine is crying, because she can feel warm wetness against her skin.

She tries for levity. “How else would I keep up with you?”

That garners her a watery chuckle, and Josephine draws back after another moment. “I love you, ‘Lana.” A light kiss is pressed to her lips, lingering for a breath before Josephine releases her with a sigh. “I should arrange a private dinner for us tonight, I suppose. Just the three of us. Will you let Yvette know?”

“Sure Josie.” Ellana straightens, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Josephine’s head. “Our quarters?”

“Mhm. The usual time.”

“I’ll tell her. Anything special?” She moves towards the door as Josephine pauses, clearly considering the possibility of Yvette doing something extravagant.

“Tell her it’s _casual_ ,” Josephine finally decides. “Just the three of us. Don’t let her make it into an event.”

Ellana chuckles, pulling the door open. “I won’t.” It’s her turn to pause now, one hand resting on the doorknob as she turns back towards the desk. “Will you be alright?”

The soft smile Josephine sends her is enough to quell Ellana’s worries. “I’ll be fine. Go on.”

* * *

Ellana had offered to escort Yvette to the dinner, which the young noblewoman eagerly accepted. It was the polite thing to do, the _correct_ thing to do, and she does honestly want to spend more time talking with Yvette and getting to know her better – but _none_ of those reasons explains as to why she is currently trailing behind the youngest Montilyet, arms laden with canvas-wrapped packages, as Yvette marches down the final hallway towards Josephine, chattering at a mile a minute.

She sorely regrets giving Yvette the directions to their suite now – in her defense, she hadn’t expected the seemingly-flighty young woman to remember them! _She_ should have remembered that Yvette is related to Josephine, and therefore has the potential to be scarily smart… – as the artist knocks once on the door before throwing it open and sweeping into the living area as if she belongs there.

“Josephine! Come see what I brought you!”

An audible sigh comes from the adjoining room. “Yvette, do try to remember we are indoors.” Josephine appears in the open doorway, hair unbound and flowing around her shoulders for once. Apparently family is a strong enough reason for Josephine to forgo looking professional. Being that this is a _casual_ dinner, she is wearing one of the looser gowns they had bought in Val Royeaux, one that drapes over her stomach and continues straight towards the floor. It emphasizes her pregnancy, and somehow Ellana isn’t the _least_ bit surprised when Yvette immediately squeals and rushes forward upon spotting her sister.

“ _Josephine_! Look at you! You’re so big!”

Ellana can practically hear the tongue-lashing Josephine wants to give her sister, but the diplomat settles for a long-suffering sigh. “Yvette, you saw me this afternoon.”

“Yes, but you were sitting down. Now I can _see_ you!”

Ellana drops her burden of packages on the nearby couch and clears her throat, interrupting Yvette before she can dig herself into a hole. “Perhaps we should eat before we get too sidetracked?”

The look Josephine sends her is nothing short of grateful.

Dinner goes well, with Yvette asking her for stories of the battles portrayed in the tapestry hanging on the wall – and complimenting its artistry, waxing eloquent about its composition and detail, – Josephine regaling them with recent anecdotes she has gathered from the courts, and one slightly teary moment when Yvette asks about the new jewelry she sees her sister wearing. After that, nothing would do but that Ellana fetch the baby’s necklace as well for Yvette to inspect, just as she insists of admiring each of their pendants and the boxes they came in.

“Ellana, would you show Yvette the other gifts the Divine gave us?” Josephine asks after they have finally regained possession of their pendants. The meal is mostly gone, only a few forkfuls of food left on the plates. “I’m sure she would love to see them.”

“Oh, I would!” Yvette’s hands come up to clasp beneath her chin. “She has such elegant taste, I can tell. And they are from the _Divine_.” She lets out a dreamy sigh. “Josephine, do you think I could meet her one day?”

The thought of the energetic Yvette trying to converse with the refined Victoria is enough to have Ellana pressing her lips together to avoid a very undignified laughing-fit. “I’m sure you will,” the elf manages, once she is certain her mirth is under control. “I’ll arrange it personally.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The raised eyebrow Josephine directs at her is simply icing on the cake. “Be that as it may, would you show Yvette to the nursery _now_?” Josephine repeats, pointedly bringing the conversation back to the present and away from any hypothetical meetings.

Ellana isn’t cowed, and merely sends her love a mischievous grin. “As you wish, my lady.” While Yvette is distracted by cooing about how _romantic_ they are, she takes the opportunity to lean towards Josephine and whisper, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t pay good money to see them meet.”

The way Josephine’s lips suddenly press together, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fights a smirk, is all the answer Ellana needs.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”

Yvette’s voice floats back to them from the nursery, and Ellana groans. “Can’t your sister stay where she’s supposed to?”

Josephine’s sigh is just as weary. “Now you know why I had to spend most of the Winter Ball keeping her company.” She gives Ellana’s shoulder a light push. “Go on. I’ll be there in a moment.”

When Ellana enters the nursery, it is to see Yvette standing, transfixed, in front of the cradle, staring up at the halla mobile as it glints in the light of the candles placed around the room. She stops next to the younger Montilyet, reaching up to brush careful fingers over the bent legs of the golden halla – her favorite. “Do you like it?”

Yvette turns to face her, expression awestruck, as she lets her hand fall. “It’s _wondrous_! I cannot believe the Divine gave you such a beautiful gift!”

Ellana suddenly has to swallow hard, trying valiantly to choke down the laugh tickling the back of her throat. “Ah…actually, Josephine –”

“ _Oh_ , she must be so envious. Josephine is always so _practical_ , she would never have thought of something like this!”

“ _Yvette_ , I heard that.” Both women turn to find Josephine standing in the doorway behind them, arms crossed below her breasts and eyes narrowed as she glares at the younger woman.

Ellana clears her throat. “Josie, do you want to tell her, or should I?”

Yvette’s attention snaps from her sister back to Ellana, curiosity practically radiating from her gaze. “Tell me what? Is it a secret?”

The scowl slides from Josephine’s features to be replaced with a suppressed smirk as the diplomat crosses the room towards the pair. “You tell the story better, ‘Lana.”

“As you wish.” Ellana wraps an arm around Josephine’s waist and presses a kiss to her cheek when the Antivan comes into reach, then has to bite her lips to keep from smiling at the way Yvette _melts_ at the gesture. “Well, it’s important that you know one thing before I start, Yvette.” She pauses to ensure she has the young woman’s complete attention – as well as for dramatic effect. “Your sister was the one who commissioned the mobile.”

The way Yvette’s mouth drops open is enough to have Josephine pressing her face against the elf’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, and this time Ellana can’t stop the grin spreading across her lips as she feels her lover shake against her.

“ _Josie_?”

“And,” Ellana raises a finger to forestall any further questions, “she didn’t tell me about it until after it was already delivered and hung. Actually, she ordered it behind my back when we were in Val Royeaux, and then two months later…”

When she finishes her story, Yvette is beaming at her sister with tears in her eyes. “ _Josephine_! Papa would be so proud of you! Why didn’t you _tell_ us what you were doing? We would have helped!”

“That is exactly why I _didn’t_ tell you,” Josephine mutters under her breath, and Ellana has to bite her tongue to keep from cackling at the thought of her lover beset by both her father and her overly-enthusiastic sister. Apparently Josephine catches on anyways, because she jabs a reproving elbow into Ellana’s ribs before answering her sister at normal volume. “It was already taken care of, Yvette. There was nothing to help with.”

“ _Oh_ , but –”

“Yvette, it’s done.”

The younger woman pouts, but drops the subject when Josephine simply stares at her. “What _did_ the Divine give you then?”

The blanket and cradle-skirt aren’t as enthusiastically admired, but honestly, when compared to the tapestry, pendants, and mobile, they _are_ lacking. That doesn’t mean she and Josephine aren’t grateful to Victoria regardless, though.

When the ‘nursery tour’ is finished, Yvette grins at the couple, and Ellana feels an apprehensive shudder crawl up her back. Even though this is only her second time meeting Yvette, she knows that smile means _trouble_. “Now it is my turn!”

She has more than an inkling of what Yvette is referring to – after all, she _had_ been used as a pack mule – and feels _most_ of her nervousness ease. It is still Yvette though, and from Josephine’s stories, Ellana is very aware the young woman can be quite…inventive.

Josephine seems to catch on just as fast, even though the Inquisitor is sure she hadn’t paid attention to the packages Ellana had dumped on the couch – or maybe she had, since Josephine _is_ very observant; she has to be, to excel at her job as Ambassador. “Yvette, you needn’t –”

The younger woman talks over her sister’s protestations. “Mama and Papa insisted, and Antoine and Laurien and Fredric sent some too. They said it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl, so you don’t have to worry.”

They reach the couch, Yvette immediately sorting through the packages Ellana had dumped there as the elf helps Josephine lower herself into the armchair they have placed opposite, then drags a chair of her own over from the table to sit next to the diplomat.

“This one first!” A parcel is thrust at Ellana and she takes it, passing it over to Josephine after a second because the presents are from _her_ family. It is wrapped in heavy oilcloth - undoubtedly in case of bad weather on the road – and it takes nearly a minute to wrestle the protective outer and inner coverings off to reveal their contents.

“Oh!” Recognition lights up Josephine’s face as she lifts the first of a number of garments into the air. “Mama kept it?”

“Mhm!” Yvette nods vigorously.

It’s one of those long flowing baby-gowns, like the ones they had bought in Val Royeaux; this one, though, is made of much finer material – cloth of gold, like Josephine’s favorite blouses and trimmings – and has the Montilyet crest embroidered on the front and hem.

When Josephine hugs the garment to her, Ellana tilts her head curiously. “Josie, why are you excited?”

A beaming smile curves Josephine’s lips as she turns to the elf. “My grandmother gave this to Mama when I was born, Papa told me. I didn’t even think of it until now, but…” she lays the gown gently on the chair arm beside her, stroking the fabric with her fingertips, “I am so very glad she sent it.”

The rest of the pile are garments of all sizes and colors, but completely unisex – Ellana sends a silent thank you to Sylaise for the lack of any frilly dresses amongst the lot; on that note, if they have a girl, she is going to have a _talk_ with Josephine about playing ‘dress up’ – and mostly free of embellishments. Those few that she does see are tasteful embroideries along hems, sleeves, and necklines.

Once they have finished examining the clothes – Ellana sets them aside on yet another chair, to be taken to the nursery later – Yvette bounces in her seat. “Those were from Mama and Papa. _These_ ,” she gestures to the remaining two presents, “are from our brothers.”

She hands the top package to Ellana again, and – again – the elf passes it over to Josephine. Unlike the parcel of before, this one does not give when Josephine presses on it; she unwraps it with a slight frown to find a wooden box. “Yvette?”

“Open it!”

Josephine shares an amused look with Ellana before running her fingernails in between lid and sides to free the cover, then unfolding the rough packing cloth inside. “ _Oh_.” Unlike before, this isn’t a mere gasp of recognition – Ellana watches as Josephine reaches into the box with trembling fingers to lift out a forearm’s length long figure, draped in a swath of white fabric. “Scarlet.”

She has spent too long with Josephine to _not_ know about her love of dolls, especially those of her childhood. More than once the Antivan has talked about sending home for them, now that the war is over and they don’t have to worry about Skyhold being demolished, but each time she talks herself out of it, resolving to be content with the less breakable collection she had brought originally.

It seems Josephine’s brothers know her well.

“And Mara, and Rosalia.” Josephine sounds as though the wind has been knocked out of her lungs, and Ellana scrutinizes her for a second to ensure her love is actually breathing. Her concern is put to rest as the diplomat places the first doll – Scarlet – back in the box with gentle care, and looks up at her sister as though she can’t quite believe what she is seeing. “Yvette, how…?”

Yvette is already pressing the second box on her sister, gesturing for Ellana to take the first box from Josephine’s lap. She does so, making sure she has a solid grip on the package before transferring it to her own lap. She knows how important these dolls are to her love.

The second box is larger, and there are clasps holding the lid solidly in place this time. Josephine flicks them open and lifts top to find wads of unspun cotton and wool placed as padding, covering the contents. When she moves the top layer…

“ _Allegra_.”

Josephine’s eyes are suspiciously wet when she turns to Ellana. “Help me up? Please?”

Ellana doesn’t question her; she gently places the first box on the ground beside her chair, takes the second with careful hands from Josephine and stows it safely beside the first, then moves next to Josephine and places one hand under her elbow, the other arm wrapped around her back, to provide the leverage she needs to stand up.

Once she is vertical, Josephine turns around to look at the padded chair, and then Ellana. By now, Ellana is more than capable of knowing what Josephine wants – sometimes before she does – and she is already offering the first box to her love. Josephine takes the three dolls out, one at a time, with gentle hands, bracing herself on the armrest of the chair as she leans forward to place them on the seat cushion. There is a gap in between two of the dolls, and Ellana holds out the last box – the _special_ doll – for Josephine to empty, but the Antivan shakes her head and backs up a step. “Please, ‘Lana?”

So Ellana puts the box down on her previous seat and reaches in to clear away the packing wool. The doll inside is longer than the others by about a hands-length, and looks so much more delicate. She picks the figure up with steady hands and transfers her to her place of honor, sitting up in the armchair.

“Josie, tell me about them?”

Her question breaks Josephine from the near trance she has fallen into, eyes tracing and retracing the four dolls of her childhood as a hand covers her mouth; she reaches towards the chair without looking at Ellana, pointing at the leftmost doll – a redhead with hair halfway down her back and blue eyes, lighter skinned than the rest, wearing a gauzy white dress.

“This is Scarlet, she was my first doll. I don’t know where Mama got her, but I’ve had her since I can remember. Mara and Rosalia are sisters.” She indicates the other two smaller dolls, a brunette and a raven, in turn. “Papa gave them to me when Yvette was born, so I wouldn’t be jealous.”

Mara has shorter hair, shoulder-length at best, and is clothed in a yellow summer dress with printed blue and green flowers, showing brown arms and legs. Rosalia, by contrast, is dressed in an elegant – at least, from what she can remember of the fashions at the Winter Palace, it would be considered tastefully embellished – blue ballgown with embroidered red roses, and has long black hair that flows down her back and complements her darker skin.

That leaves the larger doll in the middle, the one made of a different, finer, material. Josephine takes a breath, fingertips reaching to just barely ghost over her features. “And this is Allegra. She was a present when I turned twelve.”

Allegra has a gracefully curved mouth, thinly arched eyebrows over brown eyes, the slightest pink blushes painted onto her cheeks, and curly brown hair that drapes over her shoulders. Unlike the others, she is clad in a white blouse and navy skirt, both made of fine cloth with lace at the collar and hems.

“Josie, they’re beautiful.” Ellana doesn’t know what else to say. The dolls have clearly been carefully cared for, with little sign of wear and tear. “I can tell you love them.”

Josephine’s eyes are still wet when she turns to Ellana, but she is smiling when she reaches out to cup the elf’s cheek. “Thank you, ‘Lana.”

The rustle of fabric has both women turning to see Yvette standing in front of the couch, shifting from foot to foot. “Those are the presents from the rest of the family,” she starts, then pauses. “And…” This is the first time Ellana has seen Yvette nervous; her face is filled with trepidation as her hands twist at her skirts, and she doesn’t look at either of them. “And I thought that my gift would be paintings. To send to Mama and Papa so they can see you, and for you here. I thought…one of Josephine and both of you now, and then again when the baby comes…I know you say I never finish, Josie, but I promise –”

“Yvette.” Ellana watches as the young woman stops talking and looks up at her name, eyes wide, to see Josephine crossing the distance between them as quickly as she is able. Another breath and she is pulled into a tight hug, Josephine pressing their cheeks together as she whispers “Thank you” over and over into Yvette’s ear.

Ellana herself has to check the corners of her eyes to make sure she isn’t tearing up. These gifts…how will they _ever_ repay the thoughtfulness that first Victoria, and now Josephine’s family, has shown them? Maybe Josephine will know; she will ask her love later though, because at the moment both Josephine _and_ Yvette are crying now, but they are happy tears. Somehow, she can _tell_.

* * *

The rest of the month passes…not _quickly_ , but the days seem to blur together. Ellana comes back to their rooms for supper one evening – a few days after Yvette’s arrival – to find Josephine in the nursery, folding and re-folding the clothes her parents had sent, sorted by color and pattern as she tries to decide how she wants to store them.

The week after Yvette’s arrival, they begin the process of planning out the paintings. It takes very little convincing to get Josephine to agree to cut back her work hours: now the mornings and a couple hours after dinner are for any special visitors or meetings, and the mid-afternoons until supper are spent with her sister.

Those first days are…interesting, as Josephine and Yvette work to agree on her outfit, jewelry, pose, and hair. Both women can be quite stubborn, and Ellana finds herself working as a mediator more often than not. (She is thankful for all of her experience at judging criminals, now. It has taught her how to walk the thin line between ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ for concessions.) They finally settle on Josephine wearing the same dress she had for their dinner, because it accents the swell of her abdomen, with her pendant resting just inside the neckline.

They decide to have Josephine’s hair up in her customary chignon – partially because it’s easy and familiar for her to do, day after day – with a few extra tendrils down to frame her face. Her pose takes longer to decide, with Yvette having Josephine change positions a few times before the diplomat puts her foot down and decrees that she will sit at an angle with her hands cradling her stomach, and that is that.

One day is spent with Yvette doing an outlining sketch of Josephine’s posture and seat, adding a few details such as the positioning of the pendant and Josephine’s facial features, on the large canvas she had brought. After getting Josephine’s agreement, the painting begins.

Ellana takes enjoyment in sneaking into the nursery – where they are doing the painting, near the window so afternoon sunlight can fall onto Josephine and highlight her features – a little bit early and looking over Yvette’s shoulder as she paints until the young woman notices her presence.

She hadn’t snuck in the first few times, but after Yvette complained that she was distracting…well. She certainly wasn’t going to miss out on seeing the painting in progress. Even better, Josephine notices her sometimes and has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling and giving the trick away. Some days, it takes Yvette until the session is over – and it is then supper time – to see her, and the way the young woman exclaims her surprise always pulls a smile from all three.

It takes a week of consecutive sittings for Josephine’s portrait to be finished, and the finished product takes Ellana’s breath away. No matter how much Josephine may grouch about her sister never finishing her projects, she had _never_ said Yvette didn’t have talent, and now Ellana can see why. The portrait is so very life-like, with the way the sunlight falls across Josephine’s face and dress highlighting her expression and curves.

“This one will go to Mama and Papa,” Josephine decides that evening as they are examining the painting for any touch-ups it may need – they don’t find any – and admiring Yvette’s skill. “Assuming the baby cooperates,” she looks down at her stomach, which seems to be carrying a little lower these last few days, “and doesn’t decide to come early, you should have enough time to finish the other portrait, yes?”

“Yes, Josie,” Yvette agrees. She has already brought the second canvas to their room, and _most_ of the details of the painting have been hashed out over supper during the week. This one will be from the waist up instead of full-body, which should cut down on the time required. Josephine will be sitting in the same chair, but this time with Ellana standing behind her; the elf will be leaning forward over Josephine’s shoulder as her arm comes around the Antivan’s waist to rest a hand on her stomach, while Josephine’s hand and arm rest over Ellana’s. As for the positions of their heads… ‘whatever feels natural’ ends up being Ellana smiling at Josephine as the diplomat tilts her head back slightly to look up at the elf. (Thankfully for her neck, Josephine ends up with her head resting on Ellana’s shoulder, so she doesn’t have to try and hold the position.)

Clothes had been harder to decide on, but Ellana defers to Josephine on that front. She ends up in a richly colored tunic and dark leggings, while Josephine is in a loose lighter blouse and navy skirt. To her delight, Josephine agrees to have her hair only partially held back, with the loose tresses falling over the opposite shoulder from where Ellana is positioned.

 _This_ painting takes Yvette a week and half, but every moment is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hid a...for lack of a better descriptor, an 'Easter egg' in this one. Did anyone catch it?
> 
> I think I have four chapters planned out for sure after this, but after that I'm in grey territory. If I end up not being able to decide how to handle it, I may ask for input! Just a heads up.
> 
> *Note as of 8/16/2015: Next chapter is in progress and growing steadily, but I think it will be more than my current 'two week gap' until it's up. I want to make sure I have it as right/perfect as possible!  
> **As of 8/22/2015: It's still growing and I'm not even to the main event yet. It promises to be a long one, I hope it's worth the wait!


	12. Month Ten: Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-anticipated moment finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been long in coming, hasn't it? I apologize for the chapter taking nearly a month, but I really wanted it to be perfect (and some days I simply wasn't capable of writing it). So here's to hoping that it's to your satisfaction.
> 
> (Also, I'm blown away by the fact that I have 49 subscribers. 49!! I'm...there are no words for how happy and honored I feel by this.)

**Month Ten (Birth)**

The rustle of fabric heralds Josephine’s change in position for the fifth time in as many minutes. _Why_ is it so difficult to find a semi-comfortable position? If she turns to the left or the right, the muscles in her hips stretch and complain; sitting up has her lower back flaring in pain; twisting to the side in an attempt to relieve the ache prompts her bladder to announce its presence – _again_.

The Antivan gives a grimace of discomfort as she cracks her eyes open, hoping that the only light in the room would be from the fire so that she may still have a chance at a decent night’s sleep…but alas, it is not to be. Josephine groans and snakes an arm under her pillow so that she can bury her face in its comforting softness, trying to ignore the grey pre-dawn outside the window that heralds the beginning of a new day.

It takes another hour of restless tossing and turning before she finally dozes off into a fitful sleep, never _quite_ managing to get comfortable. Nonetheless, it is mid-morning when she next opens her eyes to the world, the spot behind her in the bed empty and cold. No doubt Ellana has been up for hours, and Josephine has to admire the elf’s skill at slipping out of bed without disturbing her. Or maybe she did wake? The diplomat has the faintest recollection of a kiss being pressed to her forehead as she mumbles something, but the memory is gone as soon as it surfaces.

Josephine groans as she shifts beneath the comforter, trying to determine if getting out of bed is worth the effort…but there’s no use to lying in bed if she isn’t comfortable, and her bladder is complaining at her again.

One quick trip to the lavatory later and she decides to forgo changing into day-clothes for the moment. It is much easier to belt a long robe over her woolen nightgown, wrapping the fabric around her torso as much as she is able and tying it in place above her _large_ stomach. Maker, but she’ll be glad when the babe is born. Being pregnant has been an experience – both wonderful and terrifying – but now it is just plain _uncomfortable_.

She shuffles out into the main room of their quarters – stifling a groggy yawn behind one hand as she walks – only to draw up short when her gaze scans over the room.

“Leliana?”

Her longtime friend merely waves a hand in her direction, not even bothering to look up from the missive she’s skimming. “Good morning, Josie. Sleep well?”

Josephine ignores the greeting, moving to lower herself onto the couch set across from the table. “What are you doing here?”

Leliana turns in her chair to smile at the Antivan. “A girl can’t come visit her best friend?” When Josephine opens her mouth to protest, the Spymaster crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “Don’t even try, Josie. I haven’t seen nearly enough of you these last few months.”

The diplomat has to concede the point. She doesn’t remember exactly _when_ it became too much trouble to climb the two flights of stairs, but it has been two months at least since she last visited the Rookery. Yes, Leliana would come to her office to chat, but they both have important duties that require their attention, and besides, it has always been Josephine who insists they take a break; Leliana becomes far too wrapped up in her work to think about mundane things such as eating and sleeping.

Instead, Josephine changes tactics. “Is there a reason you came to visit while I was _asleep_?”

Leliana doesn’t even have the grace to blush. “Well, I ran into Ellana, and she said you were exhausted.” A shrug. “I didn’t know when you’d wake up, so I figured it was easier to just work here instead.”

Josephine groans, sagging back against the pleasantly supportive cushions of the couch. She doesn’t feel like arguing words and semantics with the bard today, not when her body aches and her mind is clouded with fatigue. “Fine, fine.” It is her turn to wave a dismissive hand. “You’re here now.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Josephine’s eyes sliding closed as her discomfort eases – for the moment – and she relaxes into the sofa, before Leliana breaks the quiet of the room. “How are you feeling?”

Josephine lets her head roll in Leliana’s direction and lazily opens her eyes. “I’m well.” She is met with a deadpan stare and crossed arms. “Truly.”

Another minute passes as Leliana continues to examine her – Josephine refusing to give in to that penetrating gaze – before the Spymaster tsks. “That may fool Ellana, Josie, but I’ve known you much longer. What else are friends for but to complain to?”

She considers that for a moment. It _would_ be nice to air her litany of discomforts, rather than silently grousing over the list at night when it seems impossible to get comfortable. She sighs. “Very well. But you will tell me to stop if necessary, yes?”

A roll of sharp grey eyes. “ _Yes_ , Josie. Now, get on with it.”

Josephine feels her mouth twitch – in amusement or disgruntlement, she isn’t sure. Where to even start? The shifting of the babe – no longer the rolling flips and energetic kicks of a month ago, now dulled down to presses against her bladder and kidneys – decides for her. “To begin with,” she shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the spot on her stomach where the baby is squishing her organs in an attempt to get it to move away, “I am so very _tired_ of needing to use the lavatory every half an hour! I don’t even know where all the water is coming from, because I’m _certainly_ not drinking that much.”

She pauses for a moment, slanting a look at Leliana in case her friend has rethought her invitation, but the redhead simply gestures for her to continue. “And it is winter, as everyone so kindly reminds me, but I’m _hot_ all the time. I am from Antiva! You remember how cold I was at Haven, and last winter here; I don’t…” a frustrated hiss escapes her lips as she tries to articulate her plight. “I don’t know how to be ‘too warm’, there is only ‘too cold’.”

“And – And…” A blush sweeps over her face and down her neck at the mere _thought_ of voicing her next complaint, even to Leliana. The knowing grin that tugs at the corner of Leliana’s mouth tells her that the Spymaster has already guessed what she is trying to say, but when she stops speaking, Leliana raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Josephine stares at her friend. “Are you truly going to make me say it?”

A satisfied smirk and crossed arms as Leliana leans back in her chair is Josephine’s only answer. “ _Ciucc_ ,” Josephine mutters under her breath, and looks away from the redhead.

“Compliments,” is Leliana’s prompt reply. “Continue.”

“ _Fine_.” She huffs out a breath. Better to get it all out in one go, like ripping off a bandage. “I find myself…desiring…Ellana’s touch.” She can _feel_ the blush continuing to deepen, and is sure her cheeks are glowing red even through her darker complexion. “Quite often.” _Maker_. Her palms are cool when pressed to her burning cheeks, and have the convenient effect of covering her eyes so she can’t see Leliana’s widening grin. She can still hear the choked laughs her friend is trying to suppress, however, and she presses her face further into her hands. “You are an evil, evil, person.”

Leliana ignores this pleasantry. “And has she satisfied you?”

By Andraste’s mercy, she is going to _strangle_ the woman the moment she can stand without aid. “ _Leliana!_ ”

“What? I’m just looking out for you, Josie.” But the former bard lets the topic drop. “Did you hear about Lady Forsythia’s latest declaration of vengeance?”

Josephine parts two fingers so she can peek at her friend – to make sure Leliana isn’t luring her into a false sense of security – then lets her hands fall into her lap. “No, I hadn’t; what nonsense has she taken offense to this time?”

The rest of the morning passes in laughter and quieter moments, as Leliana fills her in on the newest scandals of the Orlesian nobility. Josephine dozes off once, twice, her head lolling onto her shoulder as she sinks further into the couch. The third time, she hears Leliana’s soft chuckle through the haze of sleep. “Rest, Josie.” Gentle hands guide her onto her side, placing a pillow beneath her head and another between her legs – she is so very grateful for Leliana, has she told her friend that recently? Josephine wonders sleepily – and tucking a light blanket around her body. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

* * *

Josephine watches at Yvette pauses – perhaps ten steps ahead – and turns to wait for her to catch up. Again. To the young woman’s credit, she doesn’t call out for Josephine to hurry up or sigh impatiently, but Josephine is irritated nonetheless. Would it truly be so difficult for Yvette to walk at her slower speed? It isn’t as though there are many distractions on the battlements, or many directions to travel.

She draws abreast of her sister once again, trying not to sigh. This walk on along the wall had been her suggestion, after all. She is restless, tired of being tired, tired of being stuck in their rooms, so when Yvette had mentioned wanting to see more of Skyhold Josephine had jumped on the idea.

Apparently, spending all that time in their rooms had caused her to forget exactly how _exhausting_ extended walks are, now. Fifteen minutes in and they have barely traversed one length of wall.

A movement from within has Josephine’s hand moving quickly to her stomach as she stops walking, hoping against hope that the baby is simply shifting, not that –

 _Merda_.

“Yvette.”

The young woman had noticed her halt – uncommonly perceptive of her sister – and was looking back quizzically. “Josie?”

“I’m afraid I shall have to cut our walk short.” The baby has dropped even _further_ into her pelvis in the last week, something she hadn’t thought was possible, and the pressure on her bladder is nearly constant. Any additional movement from the babe, and –

Another twinge has her turning as swiftly as possible – without losing her balance, a tricky endeavor in its own right – and starting to _waddle_ towards the Commander’s office and the bridge back to Skyhold. (‘Waddle’ is her own description. Ellana decries it, of course, but Josephine refuses to be budged. She knows what she looks like, thank you very much, and there is _nothing_ graceful about the way she walks now.)

Yvette quickly catches up – and _now_ she is keeping pace, Josephine notes with distracted annoyance – and tugs at her arm. “Josephine, what is it?” Her eyes widen. “Is it the baby? Is it time?”

“No.” Her tone is snappish, and she pauses for just a moment to take a breath and center herself. “It’s nothing to worry about, Yvette. Why don’t you ask Cullen if he can finish showing you the battlements?” And that way she can focus all her energy on not accidentally wetting herself as she hurries towards the lavatory. Maker’s mercy, _please_.

She makes it, as she has every time before, cursing under her breath in Antivan all the while. It’s moments like these when she is most grateful for the aide being on full-time duty these last few weeks, because it keeps the Inquisition’s noble patrons from stopping her ‘just to mention their concerns’ about whatever they find intolerable about their current lodgings or meals.

It is as Josephine exits the lavatory in their rooms that she runs into Ellana. Her lover is standing in front of the clothespress, frowning and muttering to herself as she runs her fingers over various outfits. She turns at the scuff of leather sole on stone, however, and her frown disappears, replaced by confusion. “Josie? I thought you were out with Yvette.” The confusion morphs into concern. “Are you feeling well?”

The question is all the push her simmering temper needs to finally boil over. “ _No_ , I am not feeling well!” Her vehemence has Ellana taking a step back, but Josephine doesn’t care. “I have been carrying this child for _nine months_ now. My feet hurt, my back aches, my breasts are sore, I am tired _all the time_ , and I ran out of room for the babe to grow a _month_ ago. I don’t understand how my organs are expected to continue to function when they are fighting for space with something the size of a melon!”

Ellana had recoiled even further during her rant; Josephine watches her beloved stand there with wide eyes for three full breaths, then her tense shoulders slump and she rubs a hand over her face. “Maker, ‘Lana, I’m sorry.” She has always prided herself on her control, on choosing exactly what to say and when. The last few months have taken that control, that _restraint_ , and cheerfully thrown it off the parapets.

The mage takes a pace towards her, then another, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she opens her arms. Josephine steps into the embrace gratefully, letting Ellana enfold her in soothing reassurance. “Honestly, Josie, I’d be more worried if you _weren’t_ uncomfortable,” Ellana answers, and Josephine can feel the low chuckle vibrating her chest.

She draws back enough to meet the elf’s gaze with a deadpan stare. “I’m pleased you draw comfort from my _dis_ comfort, my darling.”

Another chuckle draws a reluctant laugh out of Josephine as well, and Ellana tightens her hold for a moment before letting Josephine go. “Well, it won’t be for much longer, yes? Then we can share the discomfort equally.”

Josephine scowls as they walk towards the door. “Ellana Lavellan, if you think for a _moment_ that I am going to be the one getting out of bed in the middle of the night…”

She is only slightly mollified by the swift kiss Ellana presses to her cheek. “Don’t worry Josie, I know I’m on night duty, remember?” She reaches for Josephine’s hand and interlaces their fingers. “We talked about this last week. And the week before. And a month before that.”

Oh. They had, hadn’t they? Josephine feels a light flush begin to warm her cheeks. “Ah…”

A tug on her arm draws her to a stop, and she turns to face Ellana. The elf has a fond smile curving her lips, and the expression in her eyes is enough to make Josephine’s heart flutter, even now. “I promised I’d take care of both of you, didn’t I?” She raises their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Josephine’s. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it, ma sa’lath.”

The warmth that suffuses her body now has nothing to do with her broken internal temperature regulator and _everything_ to do with Ellana. There is only one thing to say to that. “I love you, my darling.”

* * *

Josephine frowns, marking her page in the book she has been reading and shifting her gaze five inches lower to her burgeoning stomach – which makes an excellent book rest – in annoyance. The soft pain hadn’t _hurt_ , exactly; it was more of a discomfort that distracted her from her novel. When the sensation doesn’t return, she shrugs and returns to the story, although it is more difficult to ignore her aching back, now that her concentration has been disturbed. She only tries to read for half an hour more before the tiredness that has wrapped her brain in cotton wool for the last week begins to draw at her eyelids, and Josephine admits defeat.

She is thankful for the foresight that had her changing into nightclothes before slipping into bed for some light reading; she need only reach over and place the book on her end table before nestling further under the covers, drawing a breath when her stomach unexpectedly cramps again. Just as the time before, however, the pain swiftly dissipates, and she shrugs it off. She has had pains like this before, false labor contractions that fade after she rests for a while, so surely a night’s rest will ease them.

There is still one last thing to do before she sleeps. “‘Lana?”

Her beloved is in the main room, looking over some of the noble’s petitions that require her signature. Josephine combs through them before even letting them get to the Inquisitor, of course, but it is more than beneficial for Ellana to know exactly what is being asked of her; it is _necessary_.

“Yes, Josie?” is the response, called through the open doorway.

“I’m going to sleep.” It is no hardship to tell Ellana of these small actions, since she knows it eases the elf’s mind. “Do you need anything, before I do?” Such as another explanation of that horrid treaty from Duke du Franque, she thinks to herself.

There is a pause before Ellana answers. “No, I think I’ll be alright. Goodnight, ma sa’lath.”

With a light smile touching her lips – a year ago, Ellana would _still_ be whining over having to read such political documents, instead of voluntarily tackling them – Josephine pulls at the top pillow in her stack until it is in a satisfactory position, and closes her eyes. It isn’t long before she drops off into slumber.

It also isn’t very long until she stirs during the night, caught in the division between the real world and dreams as her abdominal muscles pull tight. It doesn’t last long enough to wake her, however, and with a sleepy mumble Josephine pulls Ellana’s arm tighter across her stomach and falls into unconsciousness once more.

The pattern repeats throughout the night, ensuring that Josephine never fully falls asleep, but she never fully wakes up either. The result is a very groggy diplomat who is roused at dawn, restless and uncomfortable. She is drawn from sleep by a sharper pain than before, one that lasts for nearly ten seconds before it fades away. Even in her bleary state, she knows that _that_ means.

The diplomat gingerly rolls to face her beloved. “‘Lana? ‘Lana, wake up.” It feels reminiscent of that morning nearly eight months ago, when she had woken Ellana up at the crack of dawn in her excitement. She isn’t able to kneel on the bed anymore, but shaking the elf’s shoulder is still enough to rouse her.

“Mm, J’sie?” Ellana’s eyes flutter open, working to focus in the pale grey light of early morning. “Whazzit?”

In reply, Josephine grabs the hand that rests on top of the blankets, pressing Ellana’s palm to her lower abdomen. The muscles there are still tense, even when not pulled tight by a contraction. _That_ is enough to wake Ellana fully; she sits up quickly, one arm bracing herself as she stares at first Josephine, then her hand. “It’s time?”

A wry smile twists Josephine’s mouth, although it is also tinged with excitement. “Not quite. It will be some time yet, I’m sure.” She shifts uncomfortably, eyes squeezing closed as her back makes its protest of her current position known. “I don’t believe I shall be falling back asleep, however.”

She is proud of Ellana; her love isn’t in a frantic state, as she had half expected. It seems Aeryn’s briefings were enough to calm the elf’s initial panic at the situation. Then the beginnings of another contraction – mild, again – draw her out of her musings, and she grimaces. “I would like to go for a walk, if you don’t mind.” She is tired of the four walls of their bedroom, and will surely be spending an inordinate amount of time in the room over the next few weeks; besides, Aeryn had said movement is good for speeding up labor.

Ellana isn’t paying attention. She is still staring at her hand where it rests on clenching muscles, eyes alight with awe and amazement. Josephine is sure she would be just as amazed, if it wasn’t so uncomfortable. So she waits, restless but patient, for Ellana’s focus to return to her; the elf’s sheepish grin is enough to draw out a small smile of her own. “Sorry?”

“No need to be sorry, my darling. Perhaps we could go walk the inner courtyard? I find myself wanting to be outside.”

The Inquisitor moves quickly; before Josephine has even rotated her body on the bed, Ellana is standing there with her hands out, ready to aid Josephine in lifting her cumbersome body. The Antivan reaches out to grasp the offered help, holding her back straight as Ellana tugs her upright.

The next contraction doesn’t strike until they are pacing along the covered walkway bordering the garden, bundled up and gloved, nearly half an hour later. Josephine has her arm woven through Ellana’s, her hand lightly grabbing the elf’s elbow, when she feels her muscles clenching again. “‘Lana.” She tugs on her love’s arm, her free hand moving to press against the side of her stomach as her face tightens in discomfort. “A moment.”

They stop walking, Josephine drawing a breath and fighting her instinct to hold it as Ellana turns to her. The spasm lasts maybe half a minute before it fades, and Josephine exhales as she leans her head against Ellana’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

She can see the worry lurking in Ellana’s eyes, but the elf merely smiles at her and cups Josephine’s cheek. “Perhaps we should sit down for a bit?”

Josephine considers this as they continue to walk; they are nearing one of the low stone benches installed around the perimeter of the gardens, and her feet and back _are_ beginning to complain. “As you say, my darling.”

It is still early morning; as the sun continues to rise, they watch Skyhold begin to stir: Mother Giselle crosses the garden to offer morning prayers to Andraste, Minaeve comes out to tend the Emprise herbs she has been cultivating for her most recent investigations, one of Cullen’s soldiers descends the stairs from the battlements as he follows his patrol route.

Yvette finds them around mid-morning while Josephine is doing another lap of the gardens – Ellana watching from the bench, since she doesn’t want the company this time – with an easel, canvas, and paints in tow. This diplomat cuts her circuit short, crossing the frozen grass to stop beside her sister.

The younger noblewoman is practically vibrating in place. “Josephine! Leliana said it is time, yes?” She isn’t at all surprised that Leliana knows _exactly_ what is going on. She would make a poor Spymaster, otherwise. “May I join you?”

Josephine _is_ surprised by that question. It seems Yvette has actually matured in the years she has been gone from Antiva, if she is considering other peoples’ predilections. Her answer is automatic. “Of course.”

The beginnings of another contraction have her sitting down quickly, grabbing at Ellana’s hand as she does so. This one lasts longer than before, nearly three-quarters of a minute before she finally relaxes and leans into the arm Ellana puts around her waist. When Josephine looks at her sister again, it is to find Yvette staring at her with fascination. She raises an eyebrow, the irritability that hasn’t seemed to fade in the last few days making itself known once more. “Yes?”

Yvette simply smiles happily and returns to directing the servants who carried her supplies.

An hour before midday, Josephine is sitting beside Ellana and chatting with Yvette when she feels the strangest sensation in her abdomen. Almost as though something had _popped_ , after being pulled tight for so long. She frowns, both of her companions immediately noticing the expression and snapping to attention. “Josie?”

Josephine’s attention is turned inward, but the feeling is gone now. Her frown deepens and she rocks herself up off of the stone bench – so much easier to rise from than the giving mattress of their bed – until she is standing once more. _Then_ she feels something. A trickle from inside, slowly traveling down her leg.

Her voice is calm when she speaks, just loud enough that the other two women can hear. “I believe my water just broke.”

Yvette’s gasp is audible, but it is Ellana’s reaction that holds Josephine’s attention. Her beloved’s eyes are wide, staring first at Josephine’s face, then her stomach. “Are you sure? Did you feel it? We should get you to Aeryn now –” The elf is already halfway to her feet when Josephine places a hand on her shoulder and presses her back down.

“The baby isn’t going to drop out on the grass, ‘Lana. It will be a while yet, I’m sure.” She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut as another contraction pulses through her body, stronger than the last, as though trying to put a lie to her words. It’s nearly a minute before she regains her composure.

“Can we at least go back inside?” Ellana’s voice is imploring as she looks up at Josephine, still held in place by the Antivan’s grasp. “I’d feel much better. Please, ma sa’lath.”

How is she supposed to resist such pleading? Josephine lifts her hand off Ellana’s shoulder to cup her beloved’s cheek instead. “Very well, my darling. Let us go inside.”

Ellana sends Yvette to fetch Aeryn, while she escorts Josephine back to their rooms. The healer arrives not long after they do, trailing Yvette, Leliana, and Dorian. (The Spymaster had apparently seen Yvette sent on her errand, and immediately alerted Dorian. Sometimes, Josephine thinks, her friend’s intuition is scary.)

Aeryn is briskly efficient, gesturing for Josephine to lay down on the bed. “After you remove any barriers, of course,” the healer adds with a sidelong look at the others in the room.

To his credit, Dorian immediately catches on. “I’ll just, ah, wait over here, shall I?” the mage calls over his shoulder as he heads back into the main room; Leliana follows, grabbing Yvette by the sleeve and towing the younger woman behind her to give the couple a sense of privacy.

When it is just herself and Ellana – and Aeryn, of course – left in the bedroom, Josephine looks at the healer. “Should I change into something more accessible?”

Her word choice prompts a muffled laugh from Ellana, but Aeryn nods. “That would be wise. You won’t want to be worrying about changing clothes later.”

She had discussed this matter at length with Ellana beforehand, and they had decided that one of her short summer nightgowns would probably be best; easy to adjust, and minimal fuss. Ellana fetches the garment as Josephine begins to shed the thicker layers she has been wearing – letting them fall onto the couch for the moment – only to be distracted as the constant trickle down her leg strengthens into a steady flow. “Ah…”

Her plight is easy to see. “Ellana, some towels,” Aeryn orders. Then her hands are on Josephine’s upper arms, guiding her over to the bed. “A minute more and you can sit down, but first we have to get you out of these wet clothes.” Deft hands tug at her long tunic and leggings, letting them drop to the ground and leaving her only in her smallclothes, before those disappear as well. Josephine lets the healer manipulate her like a doll, too busy staring down at the puddle slowly growing on the floor.

A white shift is pulled over her head, blocking her view, and Josephine blinks, shaken from her daze. “My apologies.” She feels her cheeks burn a light red, embarrassed by her distraction, as she tugs the garment the rest of the way down.

Aeryn’s smile is warm. “You have more important things to focus on, my lady.” Ellana returns with an armful of towels, depositing her burden on the bed. The healer folds a thick pad and places it on top of the sheets – when had Ellana stripped the bed of its comforter? – with a few quick movements. “Now, if would you sit here and lay back?”

One rather uncomfortable internal exam later, and Dorian, Leliana, and Yvette are let back into the room.

“So?” the Spymaster asks without any preamble. “How far are you?”

Josephine looks at her friend from where she is sitting up against the headboard, still on her throne of towels. “Not very.” When Leliana simply stares at her, she sighs and elaborates. “Aeryn says I’m perhaps three fingers, and the contractions are still too far apart. It will be a while yet.”

Aeryn clears her throat, drawing the attention of the other five to where she stands at the foot of the bed. “If it is alright with Lady Josephine, I will depart, and return in an hour. There is nothing I can do while the body prepares itself.”

“Of course,” Josephine reassures the healer. “I shall be fine.”

After Aeryn leaves, they settle in for a long wait: Ellana sits on the bed next to Josephine, in easy reach in case the Antivan needs to hold onto her; Leliana picks up the discarded clothes on the ground and couch, depositing them in the open basket in the corner instead; Yvette and Dorian seem unsure of what to do, but the mage makes an offhand comment about fashion and Yvette’s response swiftly draws the pair into an in depth discussion.

Josephine is in the middle of another, stronger, contraction when company walks in; she doesn’t notice their arrival at first, being completely caught up in the pain – until, that is, she hears the running commentary.

“It hurts it hurts, _merda, minchia fa male_ – Oh, I didn’t know that one – how much longer will it – _cazzo_ , Cole stop – oh.”

When she opens her tightly-closed eyes ten seconds later, it is to see Ellana staring at the new pair with one raised eyebrow, and Varric standing there with one hand over his face as the other rests on a sheepish-looking Cole’s shoulder.

“Kid.” Varric’s voice is resigned. “What did I tell you about saying that stuff out loud?”

Cole becomes even more shamefaced, if possible. “Sorry, Ambassador.”

Josephine exhales the breath she had been holding and loosens her grip on Ellana’s hand. “Just don’t do it again, please,” she replies, as she has done every time before. One day, he will learn and remember.

“So!” Varric claps his hands jovially, clearly working to eliminate any remaining awkwardness. “How’s it going, Ruffles?”

She contemplates her response for a moment, weighing her usual dignity against the fact that she is currently sitting on her bed, wearing a nightgown and nothing else, and already sweaty from labor. Candor wins. “I think the babe knows the answer better than I.” That startles a bark of laughter out of the dwarf, and Josephine grins. “Truly, though, it is not too bad. Yet.”

“I want to help.” Her attention is drawn back to Cole as the boy cocks his head, straw-yellow hair falling into one eye. “You hurt and they don’t know what’s happening except that it feels strange and new and they don’t like it. But I can’t reach them and I want to help.”

It’s Ellana’s turn to reassure him. “It’s okay, Cole. We –” she gestures at the other occupants of the room, “have all been in the baby’s position before, and we made it through.”

“The Boss is right,” Varric adds, clapping Cole on the shoulder before removing his hand. “It’s nature, kid. You can’t fight nature.”

“But…” The boy looks lost, reaching helpless hands out towards Josephine. “But I want to make the pain go away; I could have made her forget, before, but now I can’t!”

Josephine interrupts before Varric can even open his mouth to reply. “For which I am quite grateful. I do not wish to forget, thank you. No matter how much it hurts.” Her tone is acerbic as she scowls at the boy.

“Remember what we said about the forgetting, kid.” Varric turns the rather distraught Cole to face him. “You told me you’d rather be human than make people forget. You can’t have both.” It takes a minute, but Cole eventually nods and turns back to them.

Leliana, who has been watching with interest – Dorian and Yvette hadn’t even faltered in their energetic discussion of the latest fashions in Orlais – catches Josephine’s gaze and raises an eyebrow; the Antivan sighs, but nods. “My apologies, Cole. I appreciate the thought.”

The boy’s face brightens, and all is well once more. Varric and Cole stay for another half an hour – Cole pressing his lips tightly together every time Josephine is wracked by a contraction – before the dwarf bids the group goodbye and leaves, Cole trailing behind him like a puppy.

Aeryn returns to check on them; after a few questions about how close together Josephine’s contractions are, and encouraging Josephine to walk around if she feels up to it, the healer leaves again. Apparently there is _still_ a while yet to wait, as her body slowly prepares.

Time passes slowly. Her water has finally ceased to flow, so Josephine stands up – with a bit of help – and changes the towels she had been sitting on. When Ellana makes to take them from her, Josephine scowls at the elf. “I’m not helpless just because I’m labor, Ellana!”

The Inquisitor wisely backs off, hands raised in surrender, as Leliana laughs.

Once she has placed new towels on the bed, Josephine simply stands there. She could sit down – probably _should_ sit down, with the way her contractions are continuing to intensify – but she _does not want to_. Besides, Aeryn had said moving around might speed up the baby’s descent.

She can see Ellana visibly fighting with herself to keep from getting up to hover over her, and for that Josephine is quite grateful. Although…she draws in a hissing breath as another contraction strikes, her muscles pulling so tense and painful that she loses all awareness of the room except for her immediate vicinity, and she braces herself against the nearby wall.

When the pain fades, Josephine finds that Ellana is no longer sitting on the sofa, as she had been – now her lover is beside her, helpless concern written all over her face as she reaches out, hand stopping just shy of resting on Josephine’s back. “Ma sa’lath…” Her voice trails away, unsure of what she means to ask.

Ellana would be much more comfortable to lean against than her current wall, Josephine decides. “Yes, my darling,” she answers, and the relief that saturates Ellana’s body is easy to read.

“Aren’t they adorable?”

Josephine has never thought her hearing exceptional, but she catches Yvette’s whisper nonetheless, and turns her head to glare at her sister; the younger woman has the grace to look sheepish, at least, while Dorian merely stifles a snort at the observation. Leliana, praise the Maker, is the sensible one of the lot. “Let us go see what foods they have on hand in the kitchens, shall we?” The Spymaster has the other two bundled out of the room before they have a chance to protest; she stops at the door to smile at Josephine. “I’ll return them in a bit, Josie.”

Then they are gone, leaving just Ellana to keep her company, and Josephine feels some inner tension ebb as she sighs. She loves her friends, truly, but there is something so soothing about being alone with Ellana. There are no expectations, no worries about how she may appear, even to those who she considers family.

“How are you feeling, Josie?” Ellana’s voice is quiet as she reaches one hand forward, splaying her fingers across the lower curve of Josephine’s stomach. The diplomat can feel her muscles beginning to tense under Ellana’s palm, the preludes of another contraction. She grimaces, and her love catches the expression. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No.” Sitting upright on the bed makes the contractions even harder to bear, the uncomfortable pressure in her pelvis edging into painful with each muscle spasm. “Can I…” The idea has only just come to her, but its appeal is undeniable. “Can you hold me, through this one?”

Ellana’s expression is tender and her tone soothing as she takes a step forward. “Of course, ma sa’lath. Whatever you need.”

Josephine loops her arms around Ellana’s neck, pressing her face into the crook where collarbone meets throat and screwing her eyes shut as the cramping intensifies. One of Ellana’s hands comes to rest on the nape of her neck, the other stroking down her back soothingly as her whole body tenses. The crescendo of pain has been growing steeper, recently, and Josephine can tell it will soon reach the point where biting her lip to stifle her cries will no longer be sufficient. But that’s a good sign, yes?

She shakes her head and pushes further into Ellana’s embrace, trying to concentrate only on getting through _this_ contraction. Thinking about the increased pain of the future will only discourage her, so Josephine puts it out of her mind.

They remain like that even after the contraction fades, Ellana slowly swaying Josephine back and forth. It’s comforting, just standing there and letting Ellana soothe her; much more so than when her body takes over without her consent.

Two more contractions strike, each just slightly longer and sooner than the last, before Leliana returns with a platter of easy finger foods, Dorian and Yvette in tow with pitchers, and following them into the room is… “Bull?” Josephine frowns, half turning in Ellana’s embrace so she can see the returning group clearly. The hem of her nightgown brushes her knees as she turns, and Josephine spends a moment feeling uncomfortably exposed before pushing the thought forcibly from her mind.

“Yo!” The Qunari raises a hand in greeting as he saunters through the doorway. “Heard there’s something exciting going on.”

Josephine huffs out a laugh. “I suppose you could call this exciting, yes.”

The room lapses into silence, broken only by Josephine’s low whimper as yet another contraction begins and she presses closer to Ellana.

“Soo…” Through the haze of pain that has overtaken her mind, Josephine hears the Iron Bull draw the word out awkwardly. “Things are moving along then, yeah?”

Dorian’s dry rejoinder is just as audible. “ _Obviously_.”

There is another uncomfortable silence, and now Josephine is seriously reconsidering her decision to have others present. She was so much calmer when it was just Ellana.

Thankfully, the Iron Bull seems to have regained his equilibrium by the time she releases Ellana and turns around, because he addresses his next sentence to her. “So, how’re you feeling, Josephine?”

Will they _ever_ stop asking her that?

Josephine feels her brows draw together into a scowl. “Use your imagination.” Her tone is biting, but she is so very _tired_ of being asked how she feels. There is a child the size of a melon slowly working its way out of her body; of course it isn’t comfortable!

For some reason, the retort seems to put Bull even _more_ at ease. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, unperturbed as her scowl deepens and she narrows her eyes at the warrior. “This may sweeten your mood a bit, though.” He reaches forward, one large hand picking up a glass of water hidden among the plates of food placed on the table. “Here.”

Her irritation settles as she looks at the glass curiously. “What is it?” It _looks_ like water, but of course it can’t be only that. Not with the proud way he is offering it.

“Try it. You’ll like it, I promise.”

She takes the cup hesitantly, bringing it up to her nose to sniff the liquid as Ellana joins her. The unfamiliar odor doesn’t immediately turn her stomach, so Josephine decides to trust the Qunari and takes a small sip.

The water is cool, with a refreshing tang hiding a mild sharpness. The combination is…interesting. She takes another sip, then a third.

“Well?”

She eyes the warrior over the rim of the glass, then has to hand it off to Ellana hastily as she feels her muscles begin to tighten again. “You’re right, it is good.” Then she has to stifle the low groan threatening to escape her throat as the contraction intensifies, one hand seeking out Ellana’s to squeeze tightly through the pain.

Dimly, she hears the others greeting yet another arrival, but isn’t able to place the replying voice until she opens her eyes once more. “I see you have been progressing nicely.” Aeryn is standing before her, hands on hips and a smile curving her mouth. “How close are they now?”

“Every five minutes or so,” Ellana supplies from beside her, and Josephine nods her agreement. “And they’ve been getting stronger.”

“Excellent. Then, with your agreement, I would like to examine you again, Lady Josephine.”

“Of course.” Josephine turns towards the bed, only to practically run into the Iron Bull. Compared to his relaxed demeanor of only a minute ago, the warrior is practically vibrating with tension.

“I’ll just…ah…be going then. Now. Dorian can tell me everything. Later.” Bull is already halfway out the door before he finishes speaking; Josephine isn’t sure she’s ever seen the Qunari retreat so quickly.

“Coward,” she hears Dorian murmur under his breath, although the mage is looking a bit green himself. He stands his ground as Josephine covers the short distance to the bed, but the moment Ellana moves to help her lie back against the mound of pillows, Dorian also beats a strategic retreat behind the headboard.

As she spreads her legs, Aeryn settling between them, Josephine hears Ellana quip, “Scared, Dorian?”

“Hardly.” The mage’s voice is thick with derision. “You womenfolk have your secrets, and childbirth is one of them. I’m only being considerate.”

Josephine exhales sharply as she feels Aeryn’s prodding, although whether it’s from discomfort at the sensation or amusement at Dorian’s paltry excuse, she isn’t sure. Maybe that’s for the best. She focuses on the banter taking place behind her until the healer is done.

After a minute, Aeryn leans back. “Well, you’re a palms-width now; it shouldn’t be long until the contractions pick up even further.”

“Wonderful.” That morning, Josephine had thought herself prepared, mentally fortified, for what was to come. But now, partway through her labor…she isn’t so sure.

She is distracted from her thoughts by movement to her left; Yvette is standing there, holding the glass of liquid that Bull had brought. “I thought you may like some more water.” Her sister is oddly subdued, her usual boisterousness nowhere to be seen. But she smiles when Josephine shoots her a questioning look, so the diplomat lets it be.

“Thank you, Yvette.” She pushes herself further up the pillows before taking the water gratefully; it’s warmer now, so the crispness isn’t as refreshing, and Josephine makes a face and sets the glass aside.

Yvette’s expression is full of concern. “Josie, do you need anything? Is there something I can do?”

Josephine would be hard-pressed to remember a time in her life when she has loved her sister more than she does right at this moment. She reaches over to clasp Yvette’s hand, the younger woman’s fingers immediately curling around hers. “Just stay here. You are more than enough.”

And she does. Dorian fetches a chair so Yvette can sit beside her, her presence nearly as comforting and reassuring as Ellana’s, as Leliana begins to fill the silence with tales of lady chevaliers, of mysterious witches, of kings fighting to take back their thrones. Although Josephine isn’t sure she should call them _tales_ , because unlike Varric’s elaborately exaggerated fantasies, Leliana’s stories are strongly rooted in truth and past events. She has even heard most of them before, but Josephine is still able to lose herself in the rise and fall of Leliana’s voice as she describes epic fights and dire straits.

It is almost even enough to distract her from the ever increasing pain of her contractions.

Another hour passes this way; Ellana joins her on the bed at some point, one hand clutched in Josephine’s as the other rests on the nape of her neck, gently massaging the tense muscles there – her shoulders and back are drawn taut, even as she rests mostly upright against the pile of pillows behind her. But it doesn’t feel _right_ , and so she strains – and it feels _wonderful_.

Josephine isn’t sure of when the shift happens, but at some point during Leliana’s recitation of the Lady Aveline’s trials, she stops feeling relief from the pain. At first she thinks it temporary, that one contraction has seized her a little earlier than normal; but when it continues, and continues, barely abating into a harsh ache before again beginning the climb into agony, then she realizes, and the moan that escapes her lips is pitiful.

Yvette’s hand clutches tighter at hers and Leliana’s voice ceases at the sound, and all Josephine can hear is Ellana’s worried “Josie?”

Aeryn’s voice cuts through the thickening murmurs. “So it has begun.” Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, but Josephine can still imagine the way Ellana’s head snaps towards the healer at that sentence. Aeryn doesn’t make her ask. “She has entered the transition phase. It is the most painful part of labor, most women tell me.” Right now, Josephine would be _very_ hard-pressed to argue with that assertion. “She needs you now more than ever.”

She tries to roll towards Ellana as the newest wave of pain crests, biting back whimpers of frustration when her body refuses to cooperate. “‘Lana,” slips from her throat on a whine as she shifts restlessly; it isn’t right, it isn’t right, it isn’t _right_ , she needs Ellana behind her, as she has always been before, but then the words slip away into the haze as her muscles pull taut again and all that she can think is how much it _hurts_.

“Josie, what do you need, let me help, Josie, please –”

As the pain ebbs again she hears the soft mantra near her ear, opens her eyes to see Ellana’s helpless expression contorting her vallaslin, and is finally able to voice her plea – “Hold me,” – before she is swept away once more.

Aeryn waits until the latest contraction fades before directing the others in the room: Leliana helps Josephine scoot forward on the bed, away from her supporting pillows, as Dorian rearranges the disordered pile into something more upright, and Yvette continues to hold her hand – she had tried to pull away when her sister shifted restlessly on the bed, but Josephine had held tight and refused to let her comfort go – as Ellana climbs onto the bed behind Josephine, settling so the Antivan sits between her legs.

Then, just as the crescendo begins once more, she is allowed to lay back, and _oh_ but it feels so right now, even with the pain pulling her muscles taut as she presses into the strong body behind her, one hand latching onto Ellana’s arm as the mage strokes sweaty locks of hair away from her face, and she is _surrounded_.

“Is this better?” Ellana murmurs as she lets her head loll against the elf’s shoulder, and Josephine nods because now the pain is bearable – not lessened, no, but she can withstand the agony now that Ellana’s arms enfold her – even as her muscles begin to protest their abuse.

The complaint only lasts a moment, however, before the swell pulls her in, sight, sound, smell, all fading away until there is only touch, and pain. She clutches at Yvette’s hand convulsively, feels her sister’s fingers squeeze back just as tightly, feels Ellana rocking her gently back and forth, feels the groan that vibrates low in her throat as this wave lasts longer than before, feels flesh give under her fingers as her free hand grabs at Ellana’s leg, searching for another anchor, and finding one.

The sensations guide her back to the physical world, the one that exists outside of her own body, in time to hear “– want to do _something_ , let me be useful!”, then there is a cool damp cloth brushing across her forehead and it feels _marvelous_. But the room is hot, with the fire built high, so how did they –

The thought is cut off, her cognitive abilities degrading into mindless responses as she feels her abdomen ripple and a movement, a minute increase in pressure, within –

She is aware that she is panting, head turned and tucked under Ellana’s chin, mouthing the words “I can’t, I can’t,” as hot breath ghosts across her own shoulder in quick bursts. She is aware of the hands stroking up and down her arms, the low vibrations against her back and she _knows_ Ellana is offering encouragement, offering praise, offering belief in her ability to _get through this_ , but it hurts and it hurts and she has lost track of how long she’s floated in this sea of pain, lost track of how many times she has surfaced for brief seconds before being submerged once more –

There is another voice by her ear, a more authoritative voice, lightly accented, one she has known for years and respected and cherished, telling her, “Breathe, Josie you have to breathe, deep breaths,” and she tries, works to slow her hurried pants, follows the voice as it guides her through inhales and exhales, and then she feels a change, even though the pain is just as intense, each contraction waiting just a little longer to strike, until there is a time where her muscles have stopped clenching and all she feels is _relief_.

Her gaze wanders the room, seeing and finally absorbing what she only has hazy memories of – Dorian, sitting next to Yvette as he focuses on the bowl of water between his hands; her sister holding the damp towel that had soothed her as it wiped away perspiration; Leliana on the other side of the bed, sitting on the mattress and canted so she can reach Josephine, hand laid over the diplomat’s where it still grasps Ellana’s thigh – and then there is Ellana herself, as Josephine tilts her head back so she can see her beloved; Ellana with her wide eyes and reassuring smile as she meets Josephine’s gaze, and maybe, just maybe, she can do this.

“You’re nearly there, ma sa’lath,” Ellana murmurs, her breath stirring the locks of hair that have worked free of her braid but aren’t yet stuck to her face and neck with sweat. “What do you feel?”

She concentrates on her body, forcing her awareness past her aching neck and back, the exhausted muscles of her stomach, until she feels it; barely there and not yet urgent, but she knows it will grow. “Not yet,” she answers the question as she tries to turn further in Ellana’s embrace, wanting something to ease the painful tension in her back but unwilling to sit up – unsure if she even could; the baby has moved lower, she can feel the pressure deep in her pelvis now, pressed uncomfortably into the cradle of her hips.

Her thin nightgown sticks to her body, damp with sweat, and Josephine shudders at the sensation; she suddenly wants to be out of the garment, no matter the difficulty, she _needs_ to be free of it, to feel clean cloth against her skin. “‘Lana, help me.” It is a pleading whine as she tugs at the hem, twisted around her legs and under her body from her movements, uncaring of the others in the room in her desire to shed the covering. “I need it off –”

A contraction catches her up, different than before; still long, still just as painful, but accompanied by a deeper pressure from within, and her perception of the world is no longer lost to a fugue. She is conscious of her the pace of her breathing, the way her body tenses against Ellana and how she has to fight the urge to curl into a ball, a learned response from older pains.

Then her muscles relax again, and she resumes her previous activity, trying to tug her arm out of one sleeve – and nearly succeeding before Ellana catches on and aids her. A well-placed glare from the Inquisitor is enough to have Yvette and Leliana turning away – Dorian has already turned to face the wall behind his chair, and is muttering to himself – as she directs Aeryn as to the location of another nightgown. “If you want it, Josie?”

The idea of being stark naked in this room does not appeal to her in the slightest. “Yes.”

Between the two of them, they are able to get the garment up and off before Aeryn returns to the bed with a fresh nightgown; when she slips it over her head and Ellana helps her work the cloth down between their bodies, Josephine lets out a sigh of relief and leans back against Ellana once more.

It is impossible to put into words how much she appreciates Ellana right now: her support, her thoughtfulness, and her love. She couldn’t do this – wouldn’t ever want to do this – without her beloved by her side.

Barely a minute after she settles against Ellana, Josephine feels her womb begin to contract again, the pain increasing until it plateaus as a constant, agonizing, strain for nearly a minute – still better than the intense peaks of earlier – before the muscles begin to relax once more. She had remembered to breathe this time, just as Leliana told her to, but the focus on her respiration has made Josephine aware of the uncomfortable dryness of her mouth and throat.

“Yvette?”

Even when the younger woman had turned away for her modesty, she hadn’t let go of Josephine’s hand; when the diplomat calls to her, Yvette immediately tightens her grasp. “What do you need, Josie?”

“Water?” She doesn’t know where the glass from earlier has vanished to, and the need to relieve her parched mouth is growing more insistent by the second.

“Here.” That is Dorian, reaching into his bowl for a moment before pressing something into Yvette’s hand. “I’m sure our dear Inquisitor would have done this, but she’s rather occupied at the moment.”

When Yvette passes the object to her sister, Josephine thinks she could kiss the mage – if it wouldn’t be awkward for all involved. He has condensed some of the drinking water in from the bowl into a chip of ice; she has no idea where the mage got the idea, but it is _perfect_ and in mere moments she feels much better as the ice melts in her mouth and her thirst recedes.

She is feeling so much more in control now, her confidence in her ability to birth their child returning with each new comfort. The next contraction that begins to tighten her muscles seems to reflect that control: the urge is stronger now, the primal instinct to bear down and _push_.

“Aeryn –”

The healer nods, taking her place at the foot of the bed once more. “Are you ready, my lady?”

She doesn’t know about _ready_ , but her body certainly isn’t going to wait for her acquiescence; her legs are partially open, more comfortable that way now that the baby is so low within her, but it doesn’t feel right, and she is too low. Josephine presses her feet flat against the mattress, trying to move higher up Ellana’s body, and _this_ is better, with her legs bent and something to push back against.

“Are we finally to the main event then?” Dorian quips, and Josephine feels placid enough – although she holds no illusions about _that_ emotion lasting – to roll her eyes at the mage’s snark. He has averted his gaze again, and only then does Josephine realize that gravity has done its work on her nightgown, pulling the hem down until it rides high on her thighs, and with her legs positioned as they are, well… “I’ll just go stand over there, shall I?” Dorian repeats his suggestion from hours earlier, already moving to the head of the bed so he can see nothing untoward. “Much better.”

It’s so very odd, the way she no longer seems aware of how much of her body is on display; she is used to controlling every nuance of her appearance, but now so much of her attention is focused internally that the exterior is barely an afterthought.

The ripples of another contraction pull Josephine from her thoughts, her whole attention focusing on the _need_ to bear down. She had thought pushing down on the bed would be enough but it isn’t, her back is arching instead of curling and she tries to push but her position is wrong. Instinct takes over, her hand releasing Yvette’s as she reaches down to grasp her legs just above the knee, palms pulling both knees back towards her chest and apart, and _now_ she can push.

So she does, bearing down with all her strength, barely remembering not to hold her breath through the exertion, and then the contraction is fading she relaxes, letting her feet hit the bed once more.

The way Ellana’s hands come to rest tentatively on her upper arms draws Josephine’s notice to her beloved’s uncertainty. “‘Lana?” She has to clear her throat to speak and Yvette immediately supplies another ice chip, which she gratefully accepts.

“Where do you want me to hold?” Ellana’s voice is laden with concern. “I don’t want to distract you…”

Always so considerate. Josephine only has to think for a moment before she knows. “Put your hands over mine?” Then she can feel Ellana’s arms around her still – a safe haven that gives her courage and strength.

The familiar tightening of her muscles has Josephine pulling her knees towards her chest again – this time with Ellana’s hands warmly over hers and pressing just hard enough to help – as she curls forward, trying to aid her body along as best she can.

She falls into a reflexive rhythm, obeying her body’s cues: bearing down as Leliana chants for her to breathe, resting back against Ellana when the contraction eases, feeling Yvette wipe the sweat from her forehead when her head lolls against Ellana’s shoulder. She can feel the baby moving further down with each push, feel the previous aching pains become a sharp burning as the baby’s head stretches her and knows it won’t be much longer, soon, soon, soon –

“I can see the head,” Aeryn announces, and Josephine swears she hears Yvette gasp, but isn’t completely sure because Ellana has tightened her grip over Josephine’s hands and is murmuring in her ear.

“You’re so close Josie, just a little more, you’re doing so well –”

Another contraction seizes her and she loses track of Ellana’s voice, caught up in the overwhelming sensations her body is experiencing as she feels the baby move further and she can tell it’s _almost_ –

“–phine, Josephine stop pushing.” The healer’s voice breaks through her concentration, and Josephine’s eyes widen as the words sink in. Stop pushing? Why? When she is _so close_ –

“She doesn’t want you to tear, ma sa’lath.” That is Ellana, and Josephine has the impression that Aeryn had already tried to inform her of this. “Just for a minute or two, I promise.”

Fighting that urge during the next spasm is one of the most difficult things Josephine has ever done. She pushes her feet into the mattress, _hard_ , trying to distract herself, anything to keep from bearing down –

One of Ellana’s hands leaves her own, the mage’s arm hugging firmly across her chest and Josephine latches onto the limb gratefully – clutching so tightly she’s certain Ellana will have bruises there later – until the contraction finally passes and the need to push abates slightly.

A minute later, Aeryn gives her the go-ahead, and Josephine obeys gladly, pushing and pushing and the burning is less but she can still feel herself stretching and stretching until she _isn’t_ as stretched anymore and Aeryn’s hands are brushing against her cupping something that _isn’t_ her and Ellana is telling her “One more just one more push Josie,” so she does and feels something – _her baby_ – slip from her body and into the healer’s ready grasp.

Her abdomen looks _deflated_ , without the melon-child taking up so much space inside, and then she can’t see her stomach because a wet, bloody, squirming body has been placed there and there are _tears_ in her eyes as she reaches out one shaky hand to brush against a flailing arm.

The baby begins to wail reedily, and Josephine can feel Ellana’s breath catch in her chest as they both simply _stare_. Aeryn is working industriously still and Josephine sees the flash of a knife, but she is too distracted to pay attention to the healer. Her entire attention is centered on the new life that has just entered the room.

Another pair of hands enters her vision, holding a towel that is rubbed swiftly over the protesting body and obscuring her view temporarily, then a _different_ pair of hands, as dark as her own, are there with a blanket and Josephine reaches out, a protest slipping past her lips as the baby’s weight disappears from her stomach –

Then there is a hastily-wrapped bundle being pressed into her arms, those thin wails already quieting down as puffy eyes blink up at her and a clenched hand teases out of a loose fold in the blanket, and it feels so _right_ , the way her child settles against her chest.

Two pale hands come to rest on her shoulders and Josephine has to force her eyes away from the newborn to look up at Leliana. Her friend’s eyes are suspiciously wet and her voice thickly accented when she offers her benediction. “Congratulations, Josie, you have a daughter.”

 _A daughter_.

“‘Lana, do you see?” Josephine isn’t sure how she’s able to speak, her throat feels so tight, but somehow she manages. She sees tan fingers twitch at the edge of her vision then Ellana reaches forward cautiously, one fingertip nudging gently at five tiny curled fingers and flinching back when they flex.

“I see,” the mage breathes, and her voice is just as thick as Josephine’s. Strong arms wrap around Josephine’s torso, laying along her own and cradling _their_ child – their daughter – as the newborn’s eyes begin to slip closed.

Josephine loses herself for a moment more, unable to look away from the life that was so recently inside her, then she is pulled from her reverie by a much milder rippling in her abdomen.

“You’re almost done, my lady.” That is Aeryn again, taking the now soiled towel from Leliana. “There is just the afterbirth. An easy push is all it requires.”

As long as she doesn’t have to release her daughter. Josephine feels her arms tighten around the baby as her stomach muscles tense once more and she bears down for the last time, then it is done and Aeryn is pressing along her abdomen and nodding. “Good.” The healer stands, gathering the bundled towel and smiling at the couple on the bed. “I’ll be back later to check up on you.”

“Thank you, Aeryn.” Even distracted as she is by the child cradled against her chest, Josephine still raises her eyes to meet the healer’s gaze with fervent gratitude. Aeryn accepts her thanks with another nod and leaves quietly, the shutting bedroom door behind her.

“So?” That is Dorian, nearly forgotten in his place by the headboard. The Tevene’s tone is soft, and quite possibly the gentlest Josephine has ever heard him speak. “What’s her name?”

A glance to either side shows Yvette and Leliana also awaiting the announcement; Josephine looks down as Ellana’s arms tighten around both her and their daughter, and she nods her agreement.

It is Ellana who answers. “Her name is Arissa Lasera Montilyet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bit of scene I'd written out (and left unedited) on a whim before I got into the full labor part...and then it didn't fit anymore with the tone I set. But I couldn't give it up...so I'm going to put it here. 
> 
> *Ellana says something about how the pain will be worth it, or some such. Usual platitudes*  
> “I will…take great pleasure…” Josephine manages through gritted teeth, “in telling you…the same thing…when it is your turn.” She collapses back *onto the bed/against Ellana’s chest* as she takes advantage of the brief respite from pain, and her head tilts back so she can meet Ellana’s eyes. “Then you can see how utterly *annoying/useless/inadequate/worthless/choose word* those words are.”  
> Even *with the worry quite apparent in her gaze/with Josephine soaked with sweat and panting against her*, Ellana’s lips twitch into a grin. “But Josie, don’t you always say words solve everything?”  
> The glare Josephine sends her is pure malevolence. “Not…this,” she growls as yet another contraction begins tightening her muscles. Any further response is lost to a groan of pain as Josephine tries to curl up around her stomach to make the agony stop.
> 
>    
> I hope this wasn't too long....I am rather paranoid about this chapter. :/ Please let me know if it wasn't satisfactory. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart.


	13. Year One: Introductions (Days One and Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the baby has arrived, it's time for everyone to meet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write for a multitude of reasons; thankfully, most of those reasons have since resolved themselves! So hopefully I shall have the next chapter out sooner than a month’s wait, but…I don’t want to get any hopes up, so I make no promises. On the plus side, it's long again?

**Year One: Days One and Two**

Their bedroom is finally quiet, and empty except for herself, Josephine, and…their daughter. Ellana looks down at the tiny bundle resting on Josephine’s chest – naked, save for a napkin tied securely at her waist – and simply watches, enraptured, as Arissa’s fingers flex and curl in her sleep.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Josephine’s soft voice breaks the silence, and Ellana tears her eyes away from the baby to meet her lover’s tired gaze. After the birth – and after everyone left – she had helped Josephine change once more, this time into a loose blouse which she left mostly unbuttoned; Aeryn had suggested that they have as much skin-on-skin contact as possible with Arissa, saying it would comfort both parent and child. Josephine certainly seems content to feel Arissa’s soft skin against her own.

The mound of pillows is still propping the new mother up, but Ellana had stripped the top sheet from underneath Josephine so she could at least feel as though she were resting on clean linens, and fetched the comforter from the couch in case they got chilled; the warmth from the fireplace still permeates the room, though, so getting cold isn’t much of a worry.

“She is,” Ellana agrees just as quietly. She shifts her attention back to _their child_ when she hears a soft whimper, but Arissa simply flails an arm once before settling back into her post-feeding slumber. That draws the elf’s attention to the baby’s fingers – she has already counted fingers and toes once, but is suddenly struck by the _need_ to do so again, just to be sure. A quick check reassures her that yes, Arissa has ten fingers and ten toes, all unbelievably dainty. “She looks like you.”

She can barely hear Josephine’s quiet laugh, but Arissa stirs slightly at the movement. A moment later, and she settles down once more. “I think it’s too early to tell who she looks like, my darling.” Intellectually, Ellana knows Josephine is right – Arissa’s eyes are slightly swollen, her head still somewhat misshapen from the birthing, and her features are sure to change as she ages – but it doesn’t shake her certainty that, between Dorian and Josephine, Arissa will favor her mother.

“She does though,” Ellana insists. She lets one hand brush gently over the full head of dark hair Arissa was born with, then traces her fingers down one soft cheek until they alight on the small dot to the right of her chin. “See? She even has your beauty mark.” Arissa’s head turns and her mouth moves, instinctively chasing the pressure against her cheek even in her sleep, and Ellana swiftly withdraws her hand with a whispered “Sorry, da’len.”

Josephine has no choice but to relent in the face of such sound logic. “As you say, my darling,” she replies with a smile, and Ellana leans up to press a quick kiss to her beloved’s mouth. She lingers there a moment, just taking in Josephine’s scent and the feel of Josephine’s lips against her own, before drawing back.

“I love you, ma sa’lath.”

She adores the way Josephine’s eyes light up at the words, even now. “And I, you, my darling.”

They slip back into a contented silence, happy to just watch their daughter’s back rise and fall with each breath and listen to the soft snuffles that occasionally break the quiet. It can’t be more than five minutes later that Ellana glances up at Josephine once more, intending to ask if she’s cold, to see that her beloved’s eyes have slipped closed and her breathing has slowed into a gentle lull.  

Honestly, Ellana is surprised that Josephine hadn’t fallen asleep sooner; she was clearly exhausted from labor, and yet still managed to stay awake for another hour before succumbing. The elf knows she should follow her love's example and get sleep whilst she can, but…

But her daughter has finally arrived, and she can’t bring herself to look away from the tiny body.

And she _is_ tiny. Clan Lavellan has a few young children – they must, if they wish for their Clan to continue – but Ellana had never really interacted with them as newborns. She is a hunter, not a Keeper or a loremaster or a healer; her duties never included caring for the children, and she wasn’t close with any of the mothers, so this is truly the first time she has ever seen exactly how small a newborn is.

If she stretched out a hand, Ellana is certain her palm would cover nearly all of Arissa’s back – but she doesn’t want to wake the baby, so she resists, choosing instead to lose herself once more in marveling at how delicate each limb and appendage is.

She is still gazing at Arissa half an hour later when the baby stirs with a whimper, one fist clenching as her eyes creep open. Another whimper has Ellana reaching forward to shake Josephine awake, but she finds there is no need – the Antivan had roused barely an instant after the infant. Josephine’s eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, but Ellana can read the surprise – and then the pleasure – in her gaze when she looks down at the bundle on her chest.

A third whimper pulls Josephine back to the present, and she holds Arissa to her with one hand as she uses the other to push herself further upright. The baby is already beginning to suck at the skin of her chest by the time Josephine shifts her, bringing the eager little mouth to her breast where it roots around for a few long seconds before finally latching on. Arissa settles a moment later, her flailing fist coming to rest against her mother’s chest as she nurses.

Ellana takes advantage of the moment, sitting up as well so that she can wrap one arm behind Josephine’s back and lean her head against her beloved’s shoulder; Josephine doesn’t look away from the baby at her breast, but Ellana feels the diplomat’s free hand search for and find her own, interlacing their fingers. They stay like that, content to watch Arissa nurse, until the baby’s movements grow slower and each pull takes a little longer.

Josephine waits until Arissa’s eyes slide shut and her mouth relaxes before gently pulling the baby away; she has to let go of Ellana to do so, needing her hand to support Arissa’s head as she lifts the tiny body to her shoulder. She rubs soothing circles on the baby’s back, and Ellana is mildly amused to see that her speculation was correct – one hand covers a majority of Arissa’s torso.

Josephine holds their daughter there for a minute, until she is certain no burp is forthcoming, then looks over at Ellana. “Would you like to hold her?”

Her mouth goes dry. In the few hours since Arissa was born, she has touched and examined their daughter, but not yet held her. “Are you sure?”

The amused stare Josephine directs at her is patently familiar. “She’s your daughter too. Here.” She shifts so Arissa is cradled against her chest with one hand, the other tugging gently at Ellana’s arm. “Like this.” She maneuvers one forearm so it lays against Ellana’s stomach, elbow crooked and angled slightly out, before pushing herself further upright and twisting towards the elf. “Here,” Josephine repeats as she shifts Arissa until the baby is cradled in both hands, then gently lowers the newborn into Ellana’s embrace.

Ellana stares blankly down at the tiny body now nestled against her chest – her child, her _daughter_. Creators have mercy. Arissa didn’t even stir at the transfer, so she feels safe in extending her free hand and letting a finger trace gently down one tiny foot; her reward is a reflexive kick and scrunched features – and a muffled laugh from her beloved beside her.

“See? You won’t break her.” Ellana ignores Josephine’s knowing smirk – something she _must_ have picked up from Leliana – in favor of tightening her embrace of the precious bundle in her arms; she isn’t completelyunprepared for the protectiveness that immediately surges through her body, but she certainly hadn’t expected it to be so _strong_.

Quiet settles over the room once more, broken only by the rustle of cloth as Josephine presses herself against Ellana’s side, joining her lover in watching their daughter slumber peacefully. Ellana isn’t sure how much time passes as they sit there, entranced, but the hour must certainly be getting late, and they have one last topic to discuss before they can join Arissa in sleep. “Josie?”

“Mm?”

The Antivan’s eyelids are drooping, and Ellana promises herself that they will _both_ rest after this. “The others will want to meet her.” She can feel her heart clenching at the mere _thought_ of anyone else – Josephine excepted, of course – holding Arissa, or of leaving her family for any length of time. “How are we going to tell them?”

“You mean, assuming Dorian and Yvette haven’t spread the news already?”

“Yes, well…” Ellana huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure the whole castle knows already. But the Inner Circle will want to visit tomorrow. If it’s too soon I can tell them –”

“No, that would be fine.” Josephine stifles a yawn against Ellana’s shoulder, then turns her head so she rests more comfortably against the mage. “Just a few at a time, though. And Arissa will want to be fed…” Her voice is already trailing off as she fights the losing battle to remain conscious.

Ellana shifts her torso, letting Josephine slip back until she is fully resting on the pillows still piled behind them. The diplomat makes a muted sound of protest, but then Ellana gently slides Arissa out of her arms and onto Josephine’s chest and her lover subsides, one hand rising automatically to rest on the baby’s back. A quick glance around and the elf finds the blanket Arissa had been wrapped in earlier; she drapes it gently over mother and child, then leans forward and brushes her lips across Josephine’s forehead.

“I’ll talk with Leliana tomorrow,” she reassures Josephine as she settles on her side next to her beloved. “She’ll know how to arrange it.” A yawn of her own overtakes the elf and, with one final look at her family, Ellana lets herself slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

Arissa wakes them four times that night; her wails and whimpers aren’t loud, but both new parents rouse almost immediately, their senses on high alert even as their minds struggle to catch up. By the third feeding, Josephine reassures Ellana that she needn’t wake up as well, _one_ of them should be at least somewhat-rested, but Ellana will have none of it. If Josephine has to be awake, after her exhausting day, then there is absolutely no excuse for Ellana to remain asleep.

Besides – she is _fascinated_ by the simple process of feeding their daughter, watching with rapt attention each time Josephine groggily shifts the baby to her breast. It’s remarkable, the way Arissa instinctively latches onto the nipple with only the slightest bit of guidance and a touch on her cheek, and both mother and daughter become more practiced with each iteration.

The most recent feeding draws to a close as Arissa’s eyes slip shut, mouth going lax as she drifts into slumber. Josephine doesn’t even bother to stifle the yawn that threatens to crack her jaw as she turns her head to look at Ellana beside her. “G’morning.” Her voice is slurred from weariness, the result of being woken up every couple hours.

“Mm,” Ellana agrees, and leans forward to brush a light kiss across Josephine’s lips. The room is still lit mostly by the fire in the hearth, the orange glow beating back the fuzzy grey light of pre-dawn that heralds the approach of day, and the elf stifles a groan as she rolls onto her back to stretch. She doesn’t _want_ to greet the day, with its masses of people and duties and meetings; she wants to stay with Josephine and their daughter, even if it’s just to watch the two sleep.

The thought tugs at a memory from the night before – her decision to go talk with Leliana. Surely the Spymaster would be willing to handle informing the rest of their friends, and arranging when they can visit, right? She certainly hopes so, and there is only one way to find out.

It takes an inordinate amount of effort to slide out of bed – her body is so very heavy, the result of a night of intermittent sleep – but the resistance abates once she is upright. The elf looks down at her beloved, taking in the way Josephine has drawn her lower lip between her teeth, and can’t stifle a soft laugh at the nervous habit. “What do you need, ma sa’lath?” She cocks an imperative eyebrow when Josephine hesitates. “Josie…”

The diplomat gives in. “Arissa needs to be burped and changed, would you…?”

Ellana is reaching for the baby even before Josephine finishes her question. “Of course.” She moves to slip her hands underneath Arissa, but then hesitates. “How do I…?”

“Here.” Josephine pushes herself further upright, shifting the drowsing baby in her embrace until she can transfer their daughter – blanket and all – to Ellana’s arms. Arissa fusses slightly at the change, then again when the elf copies Josephine’s movements from the night before and raises the baby to her shoulder, a soft mewling cry that abates when Ellana rubs soothing circles on her tiny back, although her arms continue to wave in protest. It takes a minute, but her reward is a wet hiccupping sound – thankfully with no fluid accompanying the burp – and Arissa relaxing against her chest.

That just leaves the napkin change. “We’ll be right back,” Ellana promises softly as she turns towards the nursery, and hears a quiet chuckle behind her. The nursery is cold without a fire in the hearth – an oversight they had forgotten to correct in all the commotion yesterday, and one that needs to be rectified immediately – as the elf makes straight for the clothespress and pulls out a clean napkin, then looks down at the baby still resting on her shoulder. “You aren’t going to like this if you’re awake, da’len.”

Arissa thankfully dozes through the process, and Ellana sends a silent blessing to Mythal for small favors. She wraps the baby snugly in her blanket to ward off the chill of the air and scoops her up – already more adept at handling the newborn – to go back into the bedroom, but then hesitates; it takes only a few seconds to rummage through a drawer and pull out one of the tiny tunics Josephine’s parents had sent, just in case.

Josephine is half-asleep when she enters their room again, eyes lazily drifting open at the sound of Ellana’s footsteps, arms already reaching out to take their daughter back. When Ellana doesn’t immediately move after handing over Arissa, Josephine looks up in mild confusion. “Are you coming back to bed?”

“I thought I’d go see Leliana first, since I’m already up.” Ellana shifts her weight uncomfortably, aware of the stiffness her muscles have accrued over the last day. “And stretch my legs a bit.”

Josephine nods as her eyelids droop, already starting to slip back into slumber. “Promise, after?” It’s a quiet mumble that Ellana has to lean close to hear, and a fond smile tugs at her lips.

“I promise. I won’t be long, ma sa’lath.” She pads quietly across the room, stopping just long enough to snag her boots and a change of clothes, then pauses in the doorway to look back at the bed. Both of her girls are asleep, and warmth suffuses her body at the sight.

One quick change in the main room later, and Ellana sets out for Leliana’s domain. Skyhold is blessedly empty, just as it had been the morning before, the hour still too early for most of the stronghold’s residents to be moving about. She makes it up to the Rookery without incident, and isn’t the least bit surprised to find the Spymaster already awake and working at her desk, despite her late hours the night before. (Dorian, on the other hand, Ellana expects to sleep until noon, and then spend an hour on his personal grooming. She doesn’t anticipate seeing the Tevene up and about until mid-afternoon at the earliest.)

“Ah, Inquisitor.” Leliana looks up from the ragged parchment in front of her as Ellana crests the stairs. “I was wondering if I’d see you today. How is Josie? And the baby? Did you get any sleep?”

The former bard is more animated than Ellana has ever seen her outside of Josephine’s company, and she has to disguise her chuckle as a throat-clearing cough before answering the rapid-fire questions. “Josie’s well, so is Arissa, they’re both sleeping right now, and I intend to join them as soon as I get back.” She pauses, making sure that her request is clearly lined up in her head. “I wanted to ask you for a favor, first, though.”

Leliana’s expectant expression is a bit disconcerting, and Ellana has to take another moment to re-gather her scattered thoughts. “I was hoping you could organize the Inner Circle’s visits this afternoon. Not that they know they can visit this afternoon yet, but they will. I’ll tell them. Or you could tell them? I’m sure they know about Arissa by now –”

An upraised hand cuts off her nervous babbling, and piercing grey eyes bore into her own. “Take a breath, Inquisitor.” She waits until Ellana does as she asks. “I have not seen you this unsettled around me in many months. What is it you truly wish me to do?”

Ellana exhales slowly and tries again. “I know our friends will want to come meet our daughter, but…” a swift internal debate about whether to reveal her rather selfish reasons, “I don’t want them to overwhelm Josie or Arissa. They’ll need time to rest between visits, and Arissa will need to be nursed too; I don’t want them there for that.” The mere thought has a protective anger – with a strong flavor of possessiveness – flare in her chest, and she scowls.

“And you wish to spend time alone with them as well.”

Somehow, Leliana’s perceptiveness still manages to take her by surprise, even after over a year of knowing her. “Yeah.” The mage lets her cheeks puff as she sighs, visibly calming her temper. “Yvette’s fine, because she’s family and Josie will want to see her. She can stay. You, too, if you want. You’re practically Josie’s sister.”

A genuine smile lights up Leliana’s face for just a moment. “Thank you, Ellana. I think I shall visit in the evening, however; perhaps I shall bring supper. You want me to coordinate who visits when and for how long, no?”

“Yeah,” Ellana repeats, and she feels the tension in her muscles ease as relief replaces anxiety. “If you’re willing. I owe you for this.”

“Nonsense.” The former bard waves a dismissive hand. “You just said I’m practically family, yes? This is what family does, or so I’ve been told.” She grabs a spare scrap of parchment and starts scribbling names on it. “I’ll have them start visiting an hour after noon; that should be enough time to prepare?”

Ellana nods. “That’s perfect.” She takes a step back and turns to leave, already eager to return to Josephine and their daughter, but pauses long enough to catch the Spymaster’s eyes. “Thank you, Leliana.”

* * *

A knock on the door to their rooms rouses Ellana from where she is dozing on the couch, and she gets to her feet with a groan. The sight that greets her when she opens the door is welcome, however, as are the delicious odors that waft into the main room.

The kitchen staff move to place their burdens on the dining table without direction, so Ellana crosses the room and enters their bedroom, where Josephine is lying awake in bed with Arissa cradled against her chest once more. (Neither of them have any desire to put their daughter in the nursery right now; besides, with how often she wakes up, it’s simply easier to keep her with them.) The Antivan looks up when the door opens, a happy smile curving her lips. “Is it dinner time, then?”

Sometimes, Ellana wonders why she even bothers to tell Josephine what’s happening at any given time; the diplomat is scarily aware of everything around her. Still, she nods in confirmation. “Yes. Are you hungry?”

They had eaten a somewhat early breakfast – brought back from the kitchens when she stopped there after her talk with Leliana – and Josephine hadn’t been very hungry at the time, despite not having eaten supper the night before. The way Josephine’s face lights up puts her worries to rest. “I’m ravenous.”

“This way then, my lady.” Ellana bows with a flourish towards the door. “Your meal awaits.” The bright laugh Josephine gives in response as she passes the elf makes Ellana’s heart melt.

It is nearly an hour past noon when they finish eating; Josephine retreats to the couch after handing Arissa to Ellana, and the mage takes to pacing slowly around the perimeter of the main room and talking softly to their daughter. Josephine had dressed her in the golden outfit with the Montilyet crest, and Ellana heartily approves.

She has made ten circuits of the room and Josephine has dozed off on the couch before a knock on the door has Ellana’s head snapping around. She’s rather impressed that their first visitor has restrained herself from simply barging in, but Yvette’s excitement is still palpable when Ellana opens the door.

“ _Oh_ , she’s so precious!” are the first words out of the younger woman’s mouth as she takes in the sight of Arissa nestled in Ellana’s arms. Brown hands reach forward then hesitate, fluttering over the sleeping baby. “May I?”

“Only if you come sit down first,” Josephine’s voice floats over from where she has awakened from her nap. She turns so she’s properly seated on the couch and pats the cushion next to her; Yvette practically bounces across the room to her sister, Ellana following in her wake.

“Josie! How are you feeling?” The concern in Yvette’s voice is touching – even if her tone is still bright with excitement – as is the hand she rests on Josephine’s knee, and Ellana would swear she sees the younger woman minutely relax when Josephine reassures her that she’s feeling quite well.

Of course, Yvette’s eyes immediately snap back to the baby when Ellana comes to a stop in front of the couch, and her mouth forms a silent ‘O’, but Josephine stops her sister before the younger woman reaches for Arissa. “Yvette, do you know how to hold a baby?”

Yvette bristles. “ _Yes_ , Josephine. Some of Mama’s friends bring their daughters and they have babies.”

Josephine ponders that for a moment, then sighs and nods. “Very well. Show me.”

The artist reaches out again and Ellana leans forward, making it easier for Yvette to slip her hands underneath Arissa – one supporting her head, and the other under her bum. There is a pause, as Yvette looks at her sister as though for permission – and Ellana is _beyond_ impressed with how much the younger Montilyet appears to have matured since Halamshiral – then proceeds when Josephine nods once more. A few deft moves later, Arissa is happily settled in her Aunt’s arms and Yvette is cooing down at the newborn.

Ellana watches the two closely, looking for any sign of discomfort or stiffness in Yvette’s posture, but the younger woman handles Arissa with comfortable ease and, after a minute of hovering, the Inquisitor backs off. Besides, Josephine is sitting right next to her sister, so surely she will be able to intervene if necessary.

Soft conversation starts up between the two Montilyets after a minute, and Ellana takes the moment to retreat to one of the soft chairs opposite the couch and simply relax.

That is, until their next visitor invites herself in.

“Oi, Inky, where’s the squirt?”

Ellana’s head snaps up so sharply that she swears she pulls a muscle in her neck, and waves a frantic hand at Sera to _quiet down_. The archer rolls her eyes but obeys as she walks over to hop up onto the table. “So?”

“So, what?” Ellana’s brow furrows in confusion.

Sera’s sigh is exasperated. “The _kid_ , Inky. She obviously ain’t with _you_ , an’ I wanna see her do stuff.”

Ah. “She’s with Yvette and Josie on the couch, and no you can’t hold her.”

The rogue’s nose wrinkles in apparent disgust. “Why would I wanna hold her? That’s for you mushy types, yeah? Just wanna see her do somethin’, that’s all.”

That’s the second time she has said ‘do things’. Ellana’s frown deepens as she watches Sera slide off the table and crosses to the couch. “What do you mean ‘do something’? She’s a newborn; all she’s going to do is eat, sleep, and poop.” The mage half expects Josephine to frown at her for _that_ descriptor, but that’s what Aeryn had told them, and it seems to be a perfectly accurate statement thus far.

“Wot, really?” Yes, that is definitely disgust coloring Sera’s voice as she stands there, looking down at the tiny bundle in Yvette’s arms. “Why even have one then?”

Apparently eight months is not enough time to change Sera’s opinion on children, so Ellana doesn’t even try. “Because we want to, Sera.”

Something in her tone must get through to the archer, because Sera backs off after a moment. “Fine. She’s cute, Inky. Lemme know when she starts _doing_ things, yeah? More fun, then.” A jaunty wave and she’s out the door, her exit just as unexpected as her entrance.

A hissing sigh escapes Ellana’s lips, filtered between her teeth, as she watches the rogue leave. Sera is just so… _Sera_. She likes the archer, truly, but sometimes she can be so _difficult_. She allows herself a moment to push down her frustration before looking over at the couch, where the Montilyet siblings had stayed firmly _out_ of whatever madness Sera had brought with her. (This is all to the good, in Ellana’s opinion, because any interactions between Sera and ‘nobility’ tend to go poorly.)

Yvette is staring at the door with wide eyes, and Ellana is sure that if the young noblewoman didn’t have etiquette ingrained into her very being, her jaw would have dropped open. Sera tends to have that effect on people. From her spot next to her sister, Josephine smiles sardonically as she reaches out to take Arissa back from Yvette. “It seems your friend has yet to change her tune, Ellana.”

The elf sighs.

Thankfully, the next hour after Sera’s visit passes without any interruptions, and Ellana uses the time to relax. At least none of their other visitors will be as…antagonistic as Sera. For that matter, whichever friend is next on Leliana’s schedule is running late, unless Ellana’s time sense has deserted her, and that means it can only be one – well, two – people.

The rumbling bass tones that echo down the hall and into their rooms herald the arrival of Arissa’s uncles, and also manage to wake the baby from her most recent nap. She doesn’t cry, however – for which her parents are very grateful – but instead turns her head towards the source of the noise and waves a fist. Josephine, after a moment’s thought, shifts Arissa in her arms until the baby is seated on her lap instead, propped up against her stomach.

The voices only get louder as they approach the door. “– hadn’t spent an hour in front of the mirror, _preening_ –”

“I’ll have you know every minute of that time was necessary to my appearance! I certainly couldn’t leave the room unkempt –”

Ellana rolls her eyes as she stands from her chair once more. When the door – finally – opens, Bull and Dorian find themselves confronted with a displeased Inquisitor, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. She doesn’t wait for them to gather their wits. “You both _are_ aware that you’re coming to visit a _baby_ , yes?” A pause, and she receives two sheepish nods. “Then kindly modulate your tones so you don’t scare her!”

The soft gurgles she can now hear to her right only add emphasis to her statement, and have both chastised uncles turning their heads – although they appear afraid to move until Ellana gives them the go-ahead. (Briefly, she wonders why that is. They’ve never shown such…deference, to her before. Maybe she can ask Dorian later.) “Go on.”

Bull is the first to move, his long legs letting the Qunari cross to the couch in two large strides. Rather than towering over the couch’s occupants, the warrior chooses to crouch instead, putting his face on level with Arissa’s curious gaze – although not too close, so as not to frighten her. “Hey there, kid.”

His response is a string of drool and a burble as Arissa’s tongue works, and the Qunari laughs. “That so?” One massive hand comes up, wrapped around a bright red dragon. “Look, I brought you a protector!”

Ellana is positive her heart skips a beat. The dragon is made of plush material, and she can tell it’s stuffed with cotton even from where she’s standing but… “Bull, you didn’t get Dagna to put any enchantments on the dragon, right?” Her voice did _not_ just crack, it did _not_. “ _Right_?”

The warrior’s laugh isn’t at all reassuring, but his words are firm. “Don’t worry Boss, I wouldn’t hurt the kid. There’s nothin’ on the dragon, promise. Just cloth and stuffing, no magic.”

She _feels_ the tightness leave her chest – and swears that Josephine’s arms slowly relax from the death grip they have around Arissa’s body, not that baby seems to have noticed – as Dorian snickers beside her. “Oh, shut it.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Bull turns his attention back to the gold-swathed baby in front of him. “I brought you a protector, see?” He nudges Arissa’s hand with the animal, but the small fist retracts instead of latching on to the plush cloth and her head turns to chase the flutter of movement at the corner of her eye. “Aw, come on…”

Dorian breezes past the Qunari, the cloth of his robes rustling as he walks to the couch. “Perhaps the little lady is more interested in a familiar face, hm?” He bends down, one finger reaching out to brush along Arissa’s cheek. The baby’s head turns further at the touch, and…

The mage stares down at Arissa, who is now contentedly sucking on his finger. “Am I tasty, little one?” A gentle attempt to reclaim his hand is met with failure, Dorian winces as she gums his finger. “I suppose I am. Would you be willing to relinquish your prize?”

“You ain’t doing much better ‘Vint, you’ve been demoted to chew toy,” is Iron Bull’s grumpy rejoinder.

Dorian pays him no heed. “At least I have her attention.” It takes a few seconds to work his finger loose, the top third of the digit now covered in saliva. Arissa pouts and a small whine escapes her throat, but Yvette swiftly heads off the impending cry by substituting her own finger. The mage takes full advantage of his release, and gracefully lowers himself onto the couch next to Josephine. “So, Lady Ambassador, may I have the honor of –”

“No.” Josephine’s voice is firm; she doesn’t even look at the mage, her attention completely fixed on the newborn in her lap.

“But I didn’t even –”

“No.”

“But –”

“ _Dorian_.” Ellana’s voice is laced with warning, her eyes narrowed as she stares at the Tevene. The mage takes the not-so-subtle hint and backs off.

The rest of the visit passes quickly; Dorian plays with Arissa’s hands and feet, poking at an open palm or flexed arch to see her reactions, as the Iron Bull tries to – unsuccessfully – catch the baby’s attention with his vibrant dragon. It isn’t long before Arissa nods off once more, having only been woken by the loud sounds of her uncles approaching – although both parents know she’ll be demanding to eat quite soon. Her little mouth goes slack around Yvette’s finger, and Josephine readjusts the now-limp body in her arms so Arissa’s head rests in the crook of her elbow.

Ellana stops the pair at the door as they leave, catching a fold of Dorian’s sleeve to get their attention. “Dorian…”

“Hm?” The mage turns with a smile, but the expression slowly melts into a concerned frown as he takes in Ellana’s too-bright eyes and set mouth. “What’s wrong?”

She wraps her arms around her stomach, a nervous habit. “Thank you.”

The frown deepens. “For what?”

“For this.” The elf turns her head, taking in the sight of Yvette and Josephine cooing softly over the sleeping baby. “For everything. Without you…”

If Mother Giselle could see Dorian’s face right now, she would be eating her harsh words. The mage is _blushing_ , and he’s unable to meet the Inquisitor’s eyes. “It was nothing, truly. I would do this and more for a friend, and you are far more than a friend.”

“Oh?” A crooked smile tugs at the corner of Ellana’s mouth. “Does that mean I have to share you with Bull then?”

“Nu-uh.” The Qunari wraps a firm arm around Dorian’s waist and begins tugging the mage down the hall. “The ‘Vint’s _mine_ , no sharing.”

Dorian’s laughter echoes down the hall as Ellana closes the door on the pair; she stays there a moment, collecting herself, before returning to join her family on the couch. Josephine immediately leans into the arm Ellana wraps around her waist, and a contented sigh escapes the elf; she could happily remain here all day.

Their next visitor neither barges in, nor is audible from a hallway away – her presence is announced by the timid rap of knuckles on wood, barely audible over Josephine and Yvette’s discussion of what constitutes ‘spoiling’. This time it’s Yvette who rises to answer the door, waving Ellana back down when she moves to stand.

The elf hears the door swing open, and then…silence. She cranes her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the doorway without moving her torso – so she doesn’t displace Josephine and Arissa – but all she can see is Yvette standing and looking into the hall expectantly.

“Ah…” If the awkward uncertainty in the voice hadn’t immediately identified its owner, the accent certainly would. “Leliana told me to come here.”

More silence. Ellana frowns; what is Yvette doing? She counts to five, but when the younger woman _still_ hasn’t spoken, the elf intervenes. “Cassandra, come in.” She hears the rustle of cloth as Yvette – _still_ silently, has she suddenly lost control of her tongue? – moves out of the way so the Seeker can enter…and then Ellana understands.

She can count the number of times she has seen Cassandra out of armor on one hand – and this iteration is not the one to exceed that capacity. “Ah…Cassandra?”

“Yes?” The warrior is fidgeting as she approaches – clearly uncomfortable with either her clothes, the attention, or both. Her hands flutter from her sides to her hips, as though to rest upon her customary sword belt, and then back to her sides when she finds no support at her waist. (Ellana can count the number of times she has seen Cassandra without her sword on _one finger_.)

Ellana weighs her choices – ask Cassandra about her current choice of attire and risk embarrassing her right out of the room, or simply not comment. She chooses the latter. “Did you come to see Arissa, then?” Josephine shifts beside her, readjusting the baby in her arms so Cassandra can better see her; the way the Seeker’s expression melts is a good indicator that Ellana is correct.

“Is that her name?” Cassandra’s gaze is fixed on the sleeping newborn, and Ellana would _swear_ that she hears a soft coo slip from the fierce woman’s lips when Arissa’s hand comes up to brush across her mouth as she yawns.

“Yes, Arissa Lasera Montilyet.” Yvette seems to have regained some of her poise; she casts a sidelong glance at the Seeker as she sits beside her sister once more. “Where is your sword?”

It’s Josephine who answers as Cassandra flushes a dull red. “You did not wish to bring anything dangerous near the baby; that is why you aren’t in armor either, yes?” The Seeker ducks her head in acknowledgement, then looks up in surprise when Josephine nudges her with a foot – a most un-ladylike gesture, but the only way she can get Cassandra’s attention with both of her arms currently occupied. “Thank you.”

“It is common sense.” And that is the end of the topic, as far as Cassandra is concerned. “How are you feeling, Josephine? Have you recovered?”

“Recovered may be too strong of a word,” the diplomat admits. “Ellana has been wonderful, though.” The soft kiss she plants on Ellana’s cheek to accompany the statement is unexpected but quite welcome.

Cassandra nods as though that were a foregone conclusion, and quiet once again blankets the room. It is a comfortable silence, though, as all four women are content to watch Arissa make little movements in her sleep. (Before last night, Ellana would never have believed that she could be so fascinated by simply watching an infant, but now it seems the most natural thing in the world.)

Josephine’s yawn catches the four unawares, and Ellana fails to suppress her own soon after; Cassandra rises, her expression apologetic. “I should not have kept you so long, you must be tired.”

“Nonsense.” Ellana waves a hand dismissively, even as she stifles another yawn. “It’s no fault of yours.”

The warrior appears dubious, but accepts the statement at face-value. “As you say. Get some sleep, my friend. You will need it.”

There’s a statement she won’t dispute.

Yvette stands when the Seeker does, following the taller woman to the door, and Josephine calls after her sister, confused. “Yvette?”

The younger woman smiles back over her shoulder. “I’ll be back later, Josie. Don’t worry.” Then the wooden door shuts behind the two, and Ellana, Josephine, and Arissa are alone for the first time since dinner.

“Well.” Ellana has to force herself to leave the comfy embrace of the couch, then reaches down to help Josephine to her feet without disturbing the baby. “It is sound advice. We should sleep while we can, I’m sure Arissa will be awake soon enough.”

Their daughter sleeps for another hour before waking and demanding food – an hour in which both Josephine and Ellana take full advantage of the opportunity to sleep. (Ellana has perfected her ability to drop off in an instant, after so many nights of having the second or third watch, and Josephine is simply so tired she nods off the moment her eyes close.)

That the knock announcing their next visitors comes just as Arissa finishes nursing is rather disconcerting, but Ellana simply sighs and writes the timing off as an oddity specific to the pair in front of her when she opens the door. “Come on in, you two.”

Cole practically bounces past her, his whole body radiating excitement; Varric’s entrance is more stately as he follows his companion, although his wide grin more than makes up for the missing exuberance. “Hey Boss. Sleep well?”

Ellana looks at him askance, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

The dwarf gestures to his own cheek, rubbing at the skin with his thumb. “You have a bit of drool, there.”

“… _What?_ ” Ellana immediately scrubs at her face with one sleeve, only to stop when Varric _cackles_.

“Kidding, kidding.” He isn’t at all fazed by the evil eye Ellana sends his way. “Your pillow left a few marks, though. What were you sleeping on?”

The Inquisitor averts her gaze as one hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck in embarrassment. “…Josie.” In her defense, she hadn’t _meant_ to; she had fallen asleep _next_ to her beloved, but since Josephine was still propped up against the nice mound of pillows, and Ellana was therefore _slightly_ elevated too…well, she had somehow shifted in her sleep and ended up with her head cushioned on Josephine’s shoulder, thus the crease-marks on her face.

It’s a credit to Varric’s self-restraint that he doesn’t question that answer. “Right. So,” he gestures grandly towards the bedroom door, where Cole is hovering eagerly, “show me the kid!”

“Comforting warmth, stomach full, eyes heavy, closing, familiar darkness, familiar movement…” The spirit-boy’s voice is rapt as he stares at the door, and Ellana isn’t at all surprised when it opens a few seconds later to reveal Josephine and Arissa. (She ignores Varric’s guffaw – and the elbow he jabs into her side – as he points at Josephine’s shoulder and the tale-tell crease there that she is sure matches the imprint on her cheek.)

“…bright, so bright, don’t like, want dark,” Cole continues unabated, eyes fixed on Arissa as Josephine walks past him to sit on the couch once more. It’s a measure of how used to Cole the diplomat has become that she simply takes his commentary in stride. If it wasn’t already clear that he was narrating Arissa’s impressions and thoughts (such as they are), the way the newborn tries to turn her head and bury her face in Josephine’s tunic banishes any doubts.

The thin wail that issues from Arissa’s mouth when her attempt is unsuccessful has Josephine hushing the baby – and tugging a fold of blanket over Arissa’s face to block the light, because Cole _had_ told them her main protest, after all.

She quiets again, and Cole resumes his recitation as he sinks to the floor in a tailor-seat. “Sleepy, warm, comfortable, safe. Familiar.”

Varric nudges the Inquisitor again, although not to make fun at her expense this time. “Maybe you should hire the kid as an interpreter, he’s a _baby-whisperer_.” From the dwarf’s expression, his suggestion is only half in jest.

The blond boy cocks his head in Varric’s direction, although his eyes never leave the now fidgeting bundle in Josephine’s arms. “I would like that. She is…calming. Comforting. Can I?”

Ah…Ellana exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Josephine, unsure of how to approach this newest request. Thankfully, they are saved from having to respond by Cole’s frown.

“Pressure, building, moving, discomfort…” Now _Cole’s_ eyes widen, and his mouth forms an ‘o’ before he looks up at Ellana sheepishly. “She pooped.”

The mage can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of her at that simple statement; it’s just so _unexpected_. At least Josephine won’t take her to task for her reaction – the diplomat has one hand over her face and her shoulders are shaking with suppressed mirth. Even Varric is chuckling, one large hand moving to clap Cole on the back. “Only you, kid, only you.”

“What?” The boy tilts his head in question, obviously confused by their laughter. “She doesn’t like it. Can you fix it?”

It takes a moment for Ellana to regain control of herself, the process abetted by Josephine’s attempt to rise from the couch; the elf moves hastily to stop her. “No, Josie, I’ll get it.”

“But you changed her last time –”

Ellana cuts the diplomat off. “And you’re still recovering from yesterday. Here, give her to me.” Despite her protestations, Josephine is quick to hand the baby over – reinforcing Ellana’s assessment of her lover’s exhaustion.

“Can I come?”

The childish question has Ellana looking over her shoulder at the blond, still sitting on the floor. The position reinforces his puppy-like innocence, eyes wide with curiosity. How can she say no to that? “Sure, come on then. You’re going to want to hold your nose though…”

“Why? She doesn’t smell now.”

“Think of it as practice for later.” She’s already getting the hang of changing Arissa’s napkin, although having an audience is new. Her daughter squirms during the process, making her task a little more difficult, until Cole reaches over with one long finger and pokes Arissa on the nose. The baby freezes in confusion, and then one arm swings up in a clumsy attempt to dislodge the strange thing from her face - keeping her suitably distracted for Ellana to finish redressing the small body.

Varric and Josephine are talking quietly when they get back, the dwarf having finally taken a seat on the couch; they both focus their attention on Ellana when she enters the room, Cole barely a step behind since his finger has finally been captured in one small fist – and Arissa seems to have no intention of letting go anytime soon. The scene has Varric chuckling again, and the wicked smirk he sports promises no quarter. “Seems your girl isn’t waiting to get the boys wrapped around her finger, hm? Sparkler seen her yet?”

“Yes he has, and it would seem it is she who is wrapped around the boy’s finger,” Josephine counters, the smile tugging at her lips taking the sting out of the retort. “Unless you are planning to change that?” It’s a measure of how taken Varric is with the newborn that he just grins and nods.

The duo doesn’t stay much longer, although Varric has to practically drag Cole out of the room by the back of his shirt; the boy makes sure to extract a promise that he can visit again tomorrow, and Josephine agrees with soft smile. When the door closes behind the pair, the diplomat turns to Ellana. “I think we are going to have a frequent visitor, my love.”

Ellana sinks onto the couch with a groan, taking care to not jostle Arissa. (Intellectually, she knows that their daughter isn’t nearly as fragile as they are treating her; that doesn’t keep her from being cautious with nearly every movement for fear of hurting the newborn, however.) “I don’t think, Josie, I _know_.”

Arissa has just drifted off into her post-feeding nap when the door to the main room opens unexpectedly to admit Yvette – Ellana frowns, the younger Montilyet been gone a good while, and she is curious as to why – and… “Cullen?”

The Commander has what looks like a _blush_ mantling his cheeks, and his eyes are fixed on the tray of food in his hands. Yvette, in contrast, heads straight for her sister, talking excitedly. “Josie, look who I found skulking outside your door!” Ellana would bet good money that Cullen’s flush deepens at that comment. “So I told him to come in, of course. And he was _such_ a gentleman, offering to take the platter, how could I say no?”

Ellana fixates on Yvette’s first sentence, a smirk beginning to curl her lips as the younger Antivan prattles on. Her expression must catch Cullen’s attention, because the look he gives her is pure apprehension. He is right to be worried, of course. “Scared of a baby, Commander?”

The former Templar turns to place his burden on the table behind him, but Ellana isn’t going to let him escape that easily. She passes the sleeping newborn to Josephine – the new mother wraps her arms automatically around their daughter, though she keeps most of her attention on her sister – before rising from the couch and moving towards Cullen in a distinctly predatory manner. By the time Cullen turns to face the others once more, Ellana has covered more than half the distance between them; the Commander’s uncertainty is nearly tangible as he eyes her warily. “Ellana?”

The Inquisitor doesn’t respond, only stalks closer until she can circle the man. “Yes?” He stands stock-still, already put off-balance by being in the same room as – and being expected to _interact with_ – a newborn, and Ellana’s strange behavior only exacerbates his uneasiness.

He will later maintain that his discomfort slowing his reaction time is the _sole_ reason Ellana is able to best him.

The Commander _yelps_ as he is unexpectedly shoved from behind, stumbling forward a couple steps before regaining his balance. He twists his torso so he can see Ellana’s wide smirk and scowls back at the elf, but when he speaks, his voice is resigned. “Really, Inquisitor?”

Ellana is unrepentant. “You were taking too long. She won’t bite…” She waits for the man to relax just a fraction, “… _yet_.”

The expression of wide-eyed horror Cullen sends her is just too amusing; he had previously confided in her that spending a majority of his life in the Templar order didn’t exactly allow for any interactions with babies – the youngest children he had interacted with since beginning that life were perhaps six or so – and that lack of experience means the Commander is, for lack of a better term, flying blind.

When Ellana moves as though to push him again, Cullen takes another two reluctant steps closer to the couch. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

The Inquisitor sighs. “We’re not going to let you hold her or anything, just say hi. That’s it.”

“Right.”

Cullen takes a deep breath, as though steeling himself for the gallows, and crosses the remaining distance to the couch. Josephine had been watching their byplay with interest and smiles at the Commander as he approaches. “Don’t worry so, Cullen. If she can sleep through Ellana’s incessant prodding,” she ignores her lover’s indignant protest that she isn’t _that_ bad, thank you very much, “you won’t disturb her.”

Her words seem to bolster his confidence, and Cullen reaches out to nudge one tiny hand with the tip of his finger, intending to get the lax fingers to open – what he _doesn’t_ expect is for those same fingers to clench immediately around his own digit when he touches the open palm.

“Ah…” The Commander tries to withdraw his finger, but Arissa has gripped it tight – in her sleep, no less – and seems to have no intention of letting it go. Another gentle tug produces no results, and the warrior sighs. “Would you please release my finger…” He pauses, eyebrow furrowing, then looks at Josephine. “What’s her name?”

Ellana snickers as she moves to stand beside the Commander. “It took you this long to ask?” He doesn’t dignify that comment with an answer; the mage gives in after a moment, a soft smile spreading across her face (as she knows it will every time she thinks of their daughter). “Her name is Arissa.”

“Thank you.” Cullen turns his attention back to the baby. “Arissa, if you would please release my finger?” he repeats and tugs once more, clearly not expecting his plea to work…except Arissa’s fingers suddenly unclench, and her captive is freed. Cullen blinks. “Well, then. Thank you, Arissa.”

Ellana smirks as the Commander withdraws his hand, not willing to chance another capture. “It seems you’re a natural with kids, Cullen. Maybe we should change some of your duties…”

Cullen manages to both flush in embarrassment and go white in horror simultaneously. “ _No_.” And on that note, the fearless Commander of the Inquisition, former Templar and Knight-Captain, flees from three women and a baby.

In the ensuing silence, Yvette turns to Ellana. “What did you do?”

When the mage merely smirks in response, Josephine sighs and answers her sister. “She was needling the Commander; Ellana seems to have made it a game to see how distressed she can make the poor man.” The arch look she sends the Inquisitor isn’t missed. “One day he will fight back, you know. You had better hope he doesn’t employ Sera’s talents.”

“Bah.” Ellana waves a dismissive hand. “Cullen would never stoop so low as to rely on others to get his revenge, and I’d see it coming.” Then she gives a careless shrug, not at all perturbed by her train of thought. “Besides, if he does get me, well, I deserved it, didn’t I?”

“Mm,” Josephine replies noncommittally, then further discussion is cut off by a low sound. Josephine blushes; even after years of being together, Ellana still hasn’t been able to completely break her lover of (her stupid noble tendency of) being embarrassed for showing hunger, and Yvette’s presence has undoubtedly brought back some of her gentry mannerisms. “…I suppose I’m hungry.”

Yvette practically pops up from the couch in excitement. “That’s good! I brought you food, but you didn’t notice. See? I got all your favorites!” She bounces over to the table where Cullen had placed the tray, and proudly brings it back to show Josephine.

Josephine’s blush fades when nobody comments on her ‘rude manners’, and she smiles at her sister’s enthusiasm. That doesn’t keep her from scolding her sister, however. “Yvette, it must be near suppertime by now; I have no wish to ruin my appetite!”

“But…” Perhaps Yvette could make a living as an actress – Ellana is certainly impressed by the pitiful expression the younger woman dons. “I brought all of your favorites, just for you.”

After perhaps ten seconds of silence, during which Yvette continues to pout at her sister, Josephine relents with a sigh. “We can _all_ share the treats after dinner, is that satisfactory?”

Yvette thinks for a moment, then nods. “But only if you get first pick.”

Josephine makes an exasperated noise – not quite on Cassandra’s level, but close – and agrees with ill grace. (Ellana doubts she will ever tire of seeing someone besides herself cause Josephine to lose her composure.) Then Josephine frowns and turns towards the elf. “Ellana, how are we to obtain supper? We didn’t tell the kitchens that we would dine in…”

Ellana waves a nonchalant hand. “There’s no need to worry, Josie. Leliana told me that she’d bring food with her when she came to visit, and I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”

She is surprised when Josephine leans over – carefully, since she is still cradling Arissa – and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you, ‘Lana.”

Yvette’s predictable response to their actions is interrupted by the door to their quarters opening once more to admit their last visitor of the day. “Josie! I brought supper; you must be hungry by now, yes? Give me the baby, and then the three of you can eat.”

Ellana blinks at the redhead, bemused, as she bustles forward – after depositing a heavily laden tray on the table – to efficiently liberate their daughter from Josephine’s unsuspecting grasp. Both women look at the Spymaster, nonplussed, as she coos at the newborn in her arms.

After a moment, Leliana looks up. “Well? Your food will get cold, you know. Go on and eat.”

The mage shares a quick, silent, conversation with her love – _Are you okay with her holding Arissa? I trust her, it will be fine_ – before rising from the couch and offering a hand to help Josephine up. The former bard follows the three women to the table and takes the fourth chair, her gaze never leaving the now stirring baby.  

Ellana dishes out the food while Josephine pours water for each of them; when offered a plate, Leliana merely shakes her head. “I already ate; besides, I need both hands free to play with this little beauty.” She brushes a finger down Arissa’s nose and chuckles when the baby scrunches her face in response.

Josephine breaks the ensuing silence with a question. “Leliana, have you any news of Skyhold?”

The redhead looks up, an impish smile – one that makes her look years younger – tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, Master Harritt has been complaining that he’s bored, now that he doesn’t have to repair ten swords a day and hammer dents out of armor. Of course, he shares the Undercroft with Dagna, so if _he_ is bored, well…”

Ellana groans. “You’re going to send me to check on her, aren’t you?”

“Would you rather spend an hour or two with your favorite Arcanist or possibly lose half of Skyhold should an experiment go wrong?” Leliana asks innocently. Her sweet smile doesn’t falter under the half-hearted glare the elf sends her way. “I’m sure Dagna would love to meet Arissa.”

The Inquisitor is mildly surprised when Josephine doesn’t immediately shoot down that idea; when she looks across the table at her love, she finds the Antivan regarding Leliana thoughtfully; after a few beats of silence, Josephine nods. “I agree, Leliana. Perhaps you can invite her here in a week or so, Ellana? I’m sure she would love to see the pendant Vivienne gave her, as well.”

Ah yes, the pendant. It was never far from Ellana’s mind – how could it be, when her own was a constant presence around her neck? – but they had decided to wait a bit longer before binding the pendant to their daughter. Perhaps having Dagna on hand for that process would be a good idea, since the Arcanist would certainly be able to advise them on any precautions, with Vivienne in Orlais…

Leliana unwraps Arissa’s blanket so she can reach the baby’s stomach and promptly dances her fingers over it, causing Arissa to squirm and flail in her arms. She continues to tickle the baby as she imparts her next bit of news. “Josie, your aide is complaining of a draft in the office; he’s saying the cold air makes it difficult to write and –”

Josephine sighs gustily as she rests her eating utensils on her plate. “It’s that _hole_ in the hallway to the War Room!” Her hands, now empty, are free to gesticulate, her aggravation clear – Ellana has learned that the more animated Josephine’s movements, the more impassioned she is, and this topic promises to be quite important to her love. “I have submitted orders for its repair _three_ separate times, yet circumstances seem to conspire against us!”

Oh yes, she _is_ looking forward to this. “What happened?” she prompts blithely; from the corner of her eye, she catches Leliana’s droll glance in her direction, and has to stifle a laugh.

“The first order was received by the stone masons in Orlais, but the caravan was waylaid along the road and the stones stolen to reinforce the forts; the second order was sent with a messenger who was attacked by apostates who purportedly thought he had orders for the delivery of _lyrium_ , of all things, and when they couldn’t find any such orders they burned his entire stack of missives!” Josephine stops to draw a breath, and her eyes flash with the righteous anger of someone whose plans are continually disrupted by forces outside their control. “And the third order, which was to travel all of _ten meters_ , was not received by Gatsi the first time, and when I sent a second copy, he hired masons for the wrong repair!”

By this point Arissa is completely awake, Ellana notes, her eyes trying to locate the source of the familiar voice. At least she doesn’t seem disturbed by the intensity of Josephine’s rant. Well, that just means she can ‘bait the bear’, so to speak; the mage gives an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. It makes for a great window…”

Josephine rolls her eyes, not caring, in her current company, that the expression is ‘unbecoming of a noble’. “Yes, a window you can fall out…of…” Ellana can feel her heart clench and ice water flood her veins as she comes to the same realization as Josephine. “Ellana, we _must_ have it fixed before Arissa is walking. We must!”

 The elf reaches across the table to capture Josephine’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly. “We will, I promise.”

Leliana nods as she hoists Arissa a little higher in her arms. “It does add a certain character to the hall, but I agree, its repair is long overdue.”

Yvette speaks up for the first time during their dinner, her voice bright with curiosity. “May I see this window?”

Josephine turns to her sister, eyebrows pulling together into a frown. “Yvette, it’s just a hole in a wall, there is nothing special about it.”

“But I want to see it!”

Thankfully, Leliana intervenes before the two sisters can get to arguing. “I will show her tomorrow, Josie. It is no bother.”

The diplomat looks like she wants to debate the point, but another squeeze of her hand has her dropping the matter. Ellana looks around for another topic to fix on – and notices the still full tray of desserts. The plates before them are mostly empty, so now is as good a time as any, right? “Josie, you made a promise to Yvette earlier; I think it’s time you fulfilled it.”

The younger Montilyet’s face lights up at that, and the conversation takes a lighter turn once more. It lasts until Arissa begins to whimper in Leliana’s arms, and Josephine’s attention immediately focuses on the baby. “She is hungry.”

“Well, mama has eaten, so it’s only fair baby does too.” Leliana smiles down at Arissa before expertly transferring her to Josephine’s embrace. The baby’s head turns to the side, automatically searching for a nipple, and Josephine looks back up at their guests.

“I apologize, but –”

“Don’t worry so, Josie. It’s late, and you need your rest. We shall see you tomorrow, yes?” Yvette nods her agreement and the two women take their leave – both kissing Arissa on the forehead before departing.

Ellana looks at Josephine as the door closes behind Yvette. “Why don’t you go feed her, and I’ll clean up in here?” Her reply is a quick kiss of gratitude as Josephine makes for the bedroom, Arissa’s whimpers turning into wails as her needs aren’t met.

It doesn’t take long to tidy the room – she stacks the now empty plates, consolidates the left-overs and puts a miniature ice field over the plate so the food won’t spoil, and she is done. Josephine is sitting against the headboard when she enters the their bedroom, Arissa eagerly nursing at her breast, so Ellana moves around the room – banking the fire, changing into her nightclothes, and washing her face and rinsing her mouth – as she prepares for bed.

Their daughter is still nursing when Ellana slides between the sheets next to Josephine and wraps an arm around her lover’s waist. “How are you feeling?”

Josephine hums in response instead of shrugging, since that would disturb the baby. “Sore, still. Tired, but I shall have to get used to that, no?”

“Mm.” She can see Arissa’s nursing begin to slow, then finally cease, and watches as Josephine gently detaches the baby from her breast. “Here, let me take her while you change.”

The weight of their daughter against her chest feels so solid, but the tiny body seems so fragile in her arms; Ellana wonders if she will ever get used to the surge of protectiveness that seems to appear whenever she holds Arissa. Part of her hopes that she doesn’t, because even though protectiveness brings _fear_ – it must, or there would be nothing to protect against – there is also _love_ , its strength matched only by her love for Josephine.

Josephine settles in next to her, laying on her side as she observes the pair. “‘Lana…”

“Yes, ma sa’lath?”

“I don’t want Arissa away from us yet.”

Ellana thinks of the cradle in the other room, prepared and ready for their daughter, and flinches. A whole room away is too much, at the moment. “I agree, but we need somewhere to lay her nearby.”

“Perhaps we could ask Dagna to…no, that is a silly idea. Perhaps we could have Gatsi or Bull move the cradle into our room, just until she is a bit older.”

Josephine rests her cheek on Ellana’s shoulder, and the elf kisses the top of Josephine’s head. “Don’t get too comfortable; I’m going to have to get up soon to change her.” The Antivan grumbles, but obediently moves her head to a pillow, her eyes already drifting closed. “Good night, Josie.”

“Good night, my darling. I love you.”

“I love you too, ma sa’lath. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trespasser was _amazing_ , wasn’t it? It gave me ideas for later chapters, too! 
> 
> Also, we apparently finally have a rough time-line: DAI takes place over the span of roughly three years, and then of course the two year skip before Trespasser. Yay timelines, they make writers’ jobs so much easier when it comes to figuring out plot times. My headcannon based on that is that Arissa is born ~1 year into that two year gap. So they've been together for ~3-3.5 years.
> 
> (Fun fact: I've never interacted with a baby younger than 2 months, and even then he was sleeping a majority of the time. So most of this is based on pure speculation, supposition, other things I've read, and stories from people who _have_ interacted with/have their own kids.)
> 
> Addendum 27 Oct 2015: Real life has struck and struck _hard_. I'm still working on the next chapter and it is outlined, but time/inspiration/energy to write is currently difficult to come by. It _will_ be done, but may be another couple weeks.


	14. Year One: Security (Weeks 4-6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arissa grows a little more, and life at Skyhold continues on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly three months later, and I have finally finished this chapter. It turns out messing with your brain chemistry for months isn't at all conducive to writing ability; who knew? But that has finally stabilized and part 1 of 2 of "Does Sashimae get to stay in graduate school?" has been submitted, so I get a little bit of a reprieve. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long, but again I make no promises.
> 
> Anyways, hope it is up to my normal standard. Enjoy!

**Year One**

“Are you sure you can’t wait another week?” She isn’t _whining_ , exactly, but there is definitely a plaintive note to her voice. “It’s been nearly four years, what’s another few days?”

Varric sighs and rolls his eyes – they’ve been through this more than once. “You know why, Boss. Kirkwall won’t fix itself, and I’m needed there. Think how disappointed Aveline’ll be if I don’t show up to make her days more interesting.” He has told them stories of all his friends back in Kirkwall, so Ellana knows the Guard Captain is a somewhat less stoic version of Cassandra; it’s almost as though Varric has made it his life’s mission to vex stern female warriors.

“ _Fine_.” The elf crosses her arms and huffs, but can’t keep her lips from twitching up into a smile. “What did Cassandra have to say about it?”

Now it’s Varric’s turn to huff and grumble. “She said ‘Maker give her the strength to deal with you.’ She survived seven years with me!” He bristles at Ellana’s knowing look. “Don’t you start.”

Josephine brings the conversation back on track. “I am sure she will find your return very beneficial.” She shifts Arissa – now one month old and much more inquisitive – in her arms as the baby burbles, tilting her so the others are in Arissa’s line of sight.

Varric grins at the interruption and turns his attention to the duo. “What’s that, pip? You gonna miss me?” An offering of one thick index finger is quickly accepted and the digit guided to Arissa’s mouth, where she happily gums it. “I’ll miss you too. Actually…” The dwarf reaches his free hand into the satchel hanging at his side and fishes out a book, thinner than his other tales. “Made this for you.” He hands the volume to Ellana, since Josephine’s hands are currently occupied.

The elf cracks the front cover curiously; there is a pause, and then she looks up at Varric as an uncharacteristic gasp escapes her lips. “Varric, how did you…” Her voice trails off in shock as she stares at the slowly reddening archer.

 “Wasn’t that hard, really.” He shrugs awkwardly, trying to dismiss Ellana’s clear admiration. “Most of them were already in my head, just had to get them down, y’know?”

Josephine takes a step to the left, trying to look over Ellana’s shoulder at the present – Varric’s finger still remaining firmly in Arissa’s mouth as the dwarf obligingly turns. “What is it, my darling?”

The Inquisitor tilts the cover so Josephine can see the note Varric had written in the corner, dedicating the book to ‘The only girl to steal my heart in under a day’. “I think they’re children’s stories; ones he wrote himself.”

A questioning look at the dwarf has Varric confirming the statement with a nod. “Since I won’t be here to tell them, I figured this is the next best thing. There should be enough in there to last a few months without repeats.”

“How long have you been working on this?” That is Josephine – the diplomat has a good idea of exactly how long such a project would take, since it isn’t all that different from her own work.

“A while,” Varric replies evasively. When she tries to pin him with a look, the archer grins. “Don’t think you’ll find out, Ruffles. It’s a present, didn’t you learn it’s impolite to question presents?”

Ellana has been flipping through the book, stopping every few pages to scan a paragraph or two. Now she shuts it and tucks the book carefully under her arm before hugging the dwarf. He starts at the unexpected contact, but then grins and uses his free hand to pat the Inquisitor on the back in return. “Thank you, Varric. We’ll read to her every night.”

“You’d better, can’t have her forgetting her favorite dwarf!” Varric tugs his captured finger out of Arissa’s mouth, pulling against the baby’s uncoordinated resistance, and then promptly bops her on the nose with the wet digit. “You be good, you hear? Listen to your mamas, unless they tell you to be nice to the Seeker. It’s a big job, but I need you to take over annoying her for me until I come back. Can I trust you with that, pip?” A gurgle and another attempt to guide the rogue’s finger back to her mouth is Arissa’s answer, and Varric takes it as an affirmative. “Good girl.”

“Corrupting her already?” Ellana looks up from the storybook again at Josephine’s voice, and catches her beloved wiping moisture from the corner of her eyes as she speaks. She knows better than to remark the tears by now – Aeryn had warned her Josephine was likely to still be prone to sudden mood shifts and hormonal behaviors for a few weeks after giving birth – and simply wraps an arm around Josephine’s waist instead.

Varric gives Josephine the same courtesy – or simply possesses a very strong survival instinct – and turns to Cole. The blond boy looks back at Varric for nearly half a minute, the two of them completely silent as Ellana and Josephine share a confused look, before Cole nods seriously. “I will.”

The dwarf claps him on the shoulder – after years of enduring Varric’s friendly clouts, Cole has finally become accustomed to the strength behind the gesture – and grins. “Good kid.” He hitches the strap of his satchel higher on his shoulder before giving a jaunty wave. “Well, I’m off. Try not to cause any more wars while I’m gone, yeah?” He ignores Ellana’s indignant squawk that it was just _one time_ as he heads out the door, and calls back one more sentence over his shoulder. “Good luck keeping her out of trouble without me, Ruffles; you’re going to need it.”

Cole stays with them until Varric is out of sight through the gates, then nods to the two women, smiles at Arissa, and wanders off; Josephine and Ellana linger a minute longer before retreating as well – it’s midafternoon, which means Arissa is sure to fall asleep quite soon. When they reach their rooms, Ellana makes for the nursery to place Varric’s book in there, but Josephine’s voice stops her.

“‘Lana, perhaps we could read her a story now?”

The elf ponders the thought for a moment, then agrees with a soft smile. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” She backtracks to the bed and settles herself against the headboard, rearranging some pillows to pad her back. “Join me?”

Josephine passes Arissa to her lover – the baby’s eyelids are beginning to droop, but she is clearly fighting the lure of sleep – before climbing onto the bed next to Ellana and leaning her shoulder against the mage. She retrieves the book from Ellana’s lap, since the Inquisitor’s arms are currently occupied. “Which story shall we choose?”

“Mm…” Ellana watches as Josephine opens to the handwritten – and she is so very grateful that the dwarf has very clear penmanship – list of stories at the front and traces a finger slowly down the list. They pass up nearly two dozen stories before one catches her eye. “That one.”

“The Copper Marigolds?”

“Yeah.” She readjusts their slightly fussy daughter in her arms, shifting Arissa so the baby rests against her chest with one ear over her heart. The small body squirms a bit before settling, one hand curled into fist and grabbing the soft material of Ellana’s shirt. “Okay da’ean, are you ready to hear Mama tell us a story?”

A wet patch of drool is her answer, and Josephine giggles at the face the Inquisitor pulls before turning her attention to the handwritten words. “Are you ready, my darling?” Ellana’s head nestling into her shoulder is her answer; the Antivan smiles and begins to read. “‘You would think a woman who’s fought her way through hordes of darkspawn wouldn’t be shy, but the Guard Captain of Kirkwall…’”

The story is short, as a children’s tale must be, but somehow manages to paint the scenes in only a few words – Aveline of Kirkwall pacing her office nervously after sending her friend to deliver a token; the confusion of the guardsman upon receiving a copper relief; the utter disgust of their dwarf friend, hanging about in the background, at the whole situation.

They switch off the telling halfway through, stealthily disengaging Arissa’s fist from Ellana’s shirt and carefully transferring the sleeping baby to Josephine’s arms so the mage can take up the tale. Their reading aloud is not simply for Arissa’s benefit – it is also for theirs, for a time when they can simply relax as a family without any other worries or responsibilities intruding. It is just for them.

Ellana’s voice finally trails off after detailing the happy resolution of Aveline finally managing to confess her feelings to the guardsman, and she closes the book with a smile. “It isn’t too different from what happened with us, yes?” she asks Josephine lightly.

The Antivan has been listening with her head resting on Ellana’s shoulder since they switched off, her eyes drifting shut as she is lulled into a half-drowsing state; even so, her lips twitch into a smile at the reminder. “I wouldn’t say we were quite that obtuse.”

“I don’t know, do you remember when I asked if you wanted to walk the castle, and you thought I was asking for a tou – oof!”

The breath escapes her lungs as Josephine – eyes still firmly shut – jabs an elbow into her side. “You should have made your intentions clearer, I’m not to blame for that miscommunication. There was ample time to correct my misconception.”

“Hmph,” Ellana grouses as she rubs her abused ribs. “You’re the one who misread almost every compliment I paid you. It took Leliana’s intervention to get you to realize.”

Josephine ignores that assertion, choosing instead to cuddle Arissa closer to her chest. The baby shifts in her sleep, one hand coming up to brush aimlessly across her nose and mouth. Ellana tries to hold her aloofness for a moment longer, but relents when Josephine wends her free arm around the elf’s waist. It’s difficult to stay pretend-mad at her beloved when her other option is to embrace her family.

They have the rest of the day off, since Varric’s leaving had absorbed most of the afternoon; Ellana has no intention of moving until she absolutely has to and, from the way Josephine sighs and snuggles a little closer against her torso, the Antivan feels the same. So Ellana smiles softly and wraps her own arm across Josephine’s stomach and settles further into the bed, content.

* * *

Josephine wakes to the sound of soft – but growing increasingly louder – wails, as has become a common occurrence. The Antivan frees herself from Ellana’s embrace – the elf mutters and shifts in her sleep but doesn’t wake – before rolling over groggily and pushing herself upright. The room is still barely lit, the only glow coming from the embers of last night’s fire, but the light is sufficient for her to see the protesting baby in the cradle by her side. (They had decided to move the cradle into their room for the time being, since neither she nor Ellana is comfortable with having Arissa even a room away at night.)

She has to stand to be able to reach their daughter over the railing of the cradle, scooping the protesting baby into her arms and upright against her chest with the ease of practice. Some nights Arissa calms the moment Josephine picks her up, but this is not one of those nights. She continues to wail, face scrunched up in distress, and Josephine casts an anxious glance over her shoulder at the still-sleeping Inquisitor. Ellana has always been a deep sleeper, but she is nonetheless worried that Arissa’s cries will wake her beloved, and _one_ of them has to be functional in the mornings.

Josephine snags the soft baby blanket with one hand and makes for the nursery door with haste, Arissa’s bawling not abating even at the movement. It promises to be a long night.

She is able to relax slightly – and only slightly, because her heart is _aching_ for her upset daughter, even though she knows it is most likely simple hunger; her wails are just so _pitiful_ – with the wooden door shut between the two rooms, secure in the knowledge that they will no longer disturb Ellana. She makes soft hushing noises as she walks towards the couch, bouncing Arissa gently in her arms – one hand resting on the back of her neck, just in case – in the hope it will help to calm the baby enough to take care of her hunger, but Arissa’s cries refuse to abate.

They have taken to having a banked fire in the nursery as well, as this nighttime visit is quickly becoming a routine. It takes only a few pokes at the logs – her other arm holding Arissa tight against her body – before the flames are rekindled, and Josephine settles onto the couch with a sigh.

“I know, I know,” she murmurs to her daughter as she gently lowers the small body to rest on her knees. The movement has Arissa wailing even louder, protesting the loss of her warmth as well as her hunger, but it must be done; practice lets her undo the first few buttons of the loose shirt she has taken to wearing to bed with deft fingers, and it is only ten seconds or so before Arissa is in her arms once more. She brushes one finger against a downy cheek as she holds Arissa to her breast, and thanks the Maker for small graces when the baby follows instinct, searching for a moment before finding her goal and latching on.

The room seems oddly quiet without the persistent infantile wails, but it is a good quiet. This time – the ‘dead’ time of the night, too long after midnight to still be considered night, but still before the false dawn – belongs to her and Arissa alone, a frozen moment of time when her world consists _only_ of her daughter.

A light shiver makes her aware of the slight chill of the room – the rekindled fire has yet to warm the air – and she reaches for the blanket she had grabbed; a few careful movements have the blanket is draped over the both of them, and Josephine relaxes back against the couch, her free hand absently stroking down Arissa’s bare back as she gazes, content, at the wide blue eyes staring back at her.

Aeryn had told her babies have poor eyesight when they’re first born – that is why she seems unable to focus on objects more than a foot or so in front of her. But now, when her baby is at her breast…she can _tell_ that Arissa can see her perfectly, is memorizing her features just as she had learned her mother’s voice while in the womb.

Her thoughts are disturbed when Arissa makes a sound of protest, her hunger not yet abated; this, too, has become familiar, and she easily readjusts her daughter under the blanket until she is settled and nursing happily once more.

Yvette had occasionally sat up with them, before she left, keeping Josephine company through long hours and eager to spend time with her niece; since Arissa’s bouts of consciousness tend to revolve around hunger or discomfort, Josephine found herself unable to begrudge her sister the opportunity. (The fact that Yvette was willing to change Arissa’s diaper or soothe the fussy baby so they could get some rest had nothing to do with her decision, of course.) She does miss her sister, now that Yvette has returned to Antiva, but…does it make her petty, Josephine wonders absently, to have resented her sister’s presence, during some of those nights?

A kick of Arissa’s leg distracts her a moment later, a signal that her daughter has finished eating. Josephine lifts the warm body to her shoulder and holds her there with one arm as she levers herself off of the couch with a weary groan. They have a small stash of old rags to use as burp cloths, but through some lack of foresight they had neglected to refill the supply kept near the couch. She crosses the room to the clothespress, detouring around the free hanging mobile. (They won’t have to worry about bumping into it once the cradle is placed back in its original spot, but until then there is nothing to deter someone from accidentally walking into the glass pieces.)

A series of firm pats on Arissa’s back after settling a cloth over her shoulder produces no spit-up, and the baby isn’t fussing, so Josephine lowers her daughter until she can look into the small face once more. Some nights Arissa falls asleep soon after eating, and others…on those other nights she stays awake, crying whenever she is put down to sleep, and Josephine can already tell by the set of Arissa’s mouth that her daughter is feeling clingy tonight.

So she sighs and settles herself into the nicely padded rocking chair with its view of the star-studded sky, braced for a long night.

* * *

Ellana stirs with a groan, one hand automatically reaching out towards Josephine, already half-suspecting that she will feel only cold blankets. Her fingers assure her that this is indeed so, and she rolls over onto her back in preparation of leaving her warm haven. The fire in the hearth is low but still heating the room, for which Ellana is grateful – the stone walls of the room ensure that getting out of bed could be a _very_ distasteful prospect, if the temperature is not maintained.

She takes a moment more to steel herself – just because the room is warmer than it could be doesn’t mean it’s _comfortable_ after being wrapped in blankets – before sliding out of bed and padding over to throw a few logs onto the fire. The flames lick hungrily at the new fuel as Ellana turns towards the nursery with a rueful sigh. She keeps _telling_ Josephine to wake her up after Arissa has eaten, she’ll gladly stay awake with their fussy daughter so Josephine can sleep, but her beloved never does despite their earlier agreement about ‘night duty’.

The nursery is warmer than the bedroom, so Ellana turns her attention to the sleeping figure in the rocking chair to her left. She had hunted down some pillows after her first night in the chair, using them to pad the seat, back, and sides so she – or Josephine – could remain comfortable through long nights; it seems to have worked overly well, since this isn’t the first time she has found Josephine asleep in the chair, arms wrapped loosely around their daughter – equally dead to the world – nestled against her chest, both covered by Arissa’s blanket.

It’s a bit of a surprise that the sunlight streaming in through the window hasn’t woken Josephine yet, but that would surely change in another hour as the sun rises further overhead. Ellana _could_ pull the curtains and let Josephine continue to slumber on in the chair, but she knows – again, from experience – that long periods of time spent in there make for a sore body and tired mind later in the day, and she wishes to spare Josephine that discomfort.

With that in mind, she reaches out to shake Josephine’s shoulder gently, stifling a laugh when her love only mumbles and tries to shift away from the disturbance. Well, there is one surefire way to bring Josephine back to the land of the conscious – Ellana slips her hands underneath Arissa, blanket and all, lifting her gently from Josephine’s embrace; sure enough, Josephine’s eyes immediately open, though her gaze is bleary. “‘Lana?” Her voice is thick with sleep.

Ellana makes sure Arissa is safely tucked into her arms – with no sign of waking up herself – before leaning forward to brush a kiss across Josephine’s forehead. “Good morning.” She pulls back, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she watches Josephine struggle to stay alert. “Go to bed, Josie. You need your rest.”

Josephine had tried to protest the first few times Ellana had woken her here, but found the elf implacable. If Josephine refuses to wake her during the night, then no argument will dissuade her from ensuring her love gets an equal measure of rest during the day. So the diplomat grumbles but obeys, levering herself wearily out of the chair and onto unsteady legs.

Ellana escorts her back to bed, grinning cheerfully in response to the grumpy look Josephine shoots her when she stops the Antivan from taking their daughter back. “You need to sleep, Josie. Arissa and I will be fine.” She waits until Josephine is settled beneath the covers, watching her with half-closed eyes and already beginning to doze off, before leaning down to kiss her gently. “Somniar sulahn’nehn, ma sa’lath.”

She has to put Arissa down so she can change into day clothes, praying all the while that the baby won’t wake, and it seems luck is with her. Josephine is asleep as well by the time Ellana is ready for the day; she pauses to tuck the covers more firmly around Josephine’s shoulders, then scoops the sleeping baby back up into her arms. “Come, ma da’ean, it’s time to take a trip.”

She _could_ pass through the main hall, but then she would be waylaid by nobles who want to hold Arissa, or give Ellana advice on how to care for a baby, or – it is better for all involved if she avoids the crowds. At least, until there is another with her to deflect any attention.

So Ellana takes the lesser-known hallways: through the door that leads up to Vivienne’s old balcony overlooking the hall – and she was right, there are _many_ nobles milling around the tables, socializing with each other – across the stone overhang, and through the library door on the other side, where she leans against the sturdy wood with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Her audience is indifferent to her performance, barely looking up at her before returning his attention to his reading. “Still avoiding the jackals, Inquisitor?”

The glare she levels at her friend goes unnoticed, so she plops herself in the visitor’s chair beside him with an irritated huff. “They aren’t jackals, they’re vultures,” she retorts with a scowl. “Get it right.”

“Mm.”

Only the stirring of her daughter in her arms saves Dorian from the Inquisitor’s retribution. Her attention is immediately switched to the waking baby, a doting smile curving her lips as she watches Arissa’s eyes blink open. “Good morning, da’ean,” she coos – and now it’s _her_ turn to ignore Dorian when the mage’s head snaps around. Serves him right. “Did you have a long night with Mama?”

Arissa’s response is a series of breathy grunts as she stretches, one curled fist dragging along the side of her head, and Ellana decides to interpret that as a ‘yes’. A glance over at the source of an odd noise – Dorian, of course, with pathetically pleading eyes – has her relenting. “Did you wake up just to see Uncle Dorian?”

“Of course she did!”

Arissa’s head turns, searching for the source of the new voice, so Ellana adjusts the baby in her arms until the small body is situated on her lap, leaning against her stomach. Dorian is already reaching out for her daughter, hands opening and closing comically, and the sight prompts a squeal from Arissa.

“Oh, fine,” Ellana answers the unasked question tetchily, but her voice has no heat and she lets Dorian scoop Arissa from her grasp and up into his arms. (Really, it’s too cute to watch the usually dignified mage gush over a tiny person.)

The baby is promptly plopped on his lap, her legs trying to kick free of the confining blanket as she stares up at the mage from where she lays. It is one of Dorian’s two favorite ways to interact with Arissa – the other being more along the lines of ‘cuddling’ than ‘playing with’ – and he beams down at her.

“What shall we do today, little one?” He lets her hold his fingers – one in each fist – as he thinks, moving his hands back and forth just enough to evoke happy squeals from the now wide-awake baby. “Ah. I know!”

Ellana watches the pair, amused, as Dorian attempts to free his fingers – and fails – before giving it up as a lost cause and leaning forward to nuzzle her stomach. The move effectively distracts Arissa and she flails her limbs in protest, unconsciously releasing Dorian’s fingers, and the mage gives a triumphant grin.

“Now, your Mamae doesn’t know much about style, so don’t ever go to her for advice,” Dorian lectures the infant, ignoring Ellana’s heated glare to his left. “I, on the other hand, am the very essence of sophistication…” His hands are busy as he speaks, brushing up the sides of Arissa’s head in brisk little strokes. “This will work better once you have grown a bit more hair, but you look positively dashing, little one.”

Ellana’s glare morphs into confusion, then horrified realization, and finally helpless amusement as she takes in what Dorian has done to her daughter. Arissa now sports a tiny mohawk, obviously an attempt modeled after the Tevene’s usual style – unfortunately for the mage, his effort leaves Arissa looking as though she has been hit with a static field instead.

It is Dorian’s turn to glare at the now cackling Inquisitor, before pretending to ignore the elf. “Hmph. _Some people_ obviously don’t appreciate vision.” He sniffs in affected disapproval and lifts Arissa to his shoulder instead, one hand supporting her head and neck as he leans the small body back far enough to look into her face. “What do you say we find ourselves some better compan – _ah_!” The mage’s yelp startles Arissa and she begins to whimper, her fist still curled around one end of Dorian’s carefully-groomed mustache.

“ _Dorian_ ,” Ellana scolds, even as she reaches out to gently stroke the back of Arissa’s hand, causing the baby’s fingers to release their grip. Dorian is quick to move his head out of further danger, and Ellana rolls her eyes. “Give her here.”

Arissa’s whimpering doesn’t cease even after being transferred back to Ellana’s arms, and the elf can tell her daughter is very close to bawling. “What is it, da’ean?” she murmurs, lifting Arissa and pressing the small body against her shoulder as she sways back and forth. “Did Uncle Dorian scare you?” The swaying does nothing to calm the growing wails, and Ellana knows what that most likely means. “Excuse us, Dorian. I believe we have an appointment with Mama to keep.”

The mage rises when Ellana does, snagging a loose corner of Arissa’s blanket – it is in disarray, draped partially over Ellana’s arm with the rest still wrapped loosely around the squirming body – and tucking it around the baby as he stands. “Do let me know if you need anything, Ellana.” He moves to the balcony door and opens it for Ellana – since her hands are rather occupied at the moment.

“Of course,” she replies distractedly, then the door is shut behind her and she crosses the stone balcony with quick steps. It’s a blessing that most of the nobles seem to have vanished during their time in the library, so Ellana doesn’t worry about trying to hush Arissa further – her sole mission now is to get the baby back to Josephine before her wails turn into shrieks.

She makes it to their rooms just before Arissa starts protesting her hunger in earnest, sending a brief thank-you up to Mythal as she pushes open the bedroom door. Josephine is already awake and sitting up in bed – whether it is a mother’s intuition or because she could hear Arissa’s cries echoing down the hallway, Ellana isn’t sure – and the elf gratefully passes their crying daughter to her beloved.

Josephine waits until Arissa is nursing happily before breaking the silence that has settled over the room. “Where did you go, my darling?”

Ellana plops herself on the bed next to Josephine and grins. “We went to see Uncle Dorian.” She swings her legs up – having already toed off her boots while Josephine calmed their daughter – and leans back against the headboard with a contented sigh.

“Oh?” There is amusement in Josephine’s voice as she watches their daughter, one hand running over Arissa’s still-mussed hair. “Dare I even ask, then?”

“It’s all Dorian’s fault,” is the mage’s prompt response; when Josephine turns her head to look at the elf, one eyebrow raised skeptically, Ellana shrugs. “He thinks it’s _dashing_.”

Josephine laughs at her sarcastic emphasis, just as Ellana had hoped, and accepts the explanation with a smile. “Of course he does.” Then she sighs. “We shall have to watch him carefully as she ages, however. While his…flamboyant style suits Dorian perfectly, I refuse to have him dressing Arissa the same way.”

Ellana’s full-body shudder is only half-feigned. “Creators, yes. One Dorian is more than enough.”

* * *

Josephine has – after a few _discussions_ with Ellana – gone back to work, albeit with a much reduced schedule. She lets the aide continue to handle day-to-day paperwork and interactions in the mornings, while she takes whatever downtime Arissa gives her to either sleep or review papers and treatises in their rooms; the afternoons, though, see Josephine sitting in her office, working as ‘the Ambassador’ once more, and at first glance it would appear as though nothing has changed.

Of course, this isn’t true for one simple reason: Arissa comes to the office with her.

After some thought, they had decided on a woven basket, placed on the footstool beside Josephine’s chair, lined with blankets to both pad the sides and bottom and keep Arissa warm. (It is, after all, still the depths of winter in the mountains, and a fire can only warm a stone room so much.) The baby spends a good portion of her time nestled into those blankets, sleeping beside her mother; when Arissa is awake, however, she can be often be found in Ellana’s arms as the Inquisitor walks around Skyhold – that is, of course, when she isn’t demanding to be fed.

Ellana remains in the office during those times, just in case Josephine needs anything, and to keep a watchful eye on her family; it wouldn’t do for someone to walk in on Josephine nursing, after all, and while she _could_ retreat to the former War Room, it is more convenient for all involved to simply close her office to the public for a little while.

It is after one such feeding – late in the afternoon, with perhaps an hour until supper – that someone knocks twice on the closed wooden door, waits for Josephine’s acknowledgement, and enters the office with a smile. “Josie! How are you adjusting to being back at work?”

The Ambassador looks up from the letter she has just begun to reply to, and smiles at their visitor. “It is nice to be working once more.” Her smile turns self-deprecating. “Even if there are now more interruptions and difficulties than before.”

It isn’t just feeding Arissa that has her taking breaks: there have been days when Josephine has to cede to the tiredness that fogs to her mind and have the aide – they have installed him in the former War Room during the afternoons, close by should Josephine need him – take over the office because she simply isn’t able to think; even on the days she does work until supper, she rarely has more than an hour’s worth of uninterrupted time to concentrate, as her own body will make its needs known, in addition to the times Arissa will stir for reasons other than hunger.

Even with all these complications, though, Josephine wouldn’t change a thing.

“But she still manages to write fifteen letters, negotiate three new trade agreements, _and_ end an Orlesian blood feud, all before supper,” Ellana grouses good-naturedly from where she is bouncing Arissa in front of the fireplace.

Leliana’s attention turns to the Inquisitor, and she promptly advances towards the mage. “Is that so?” she asks absently, her focus on relieving Ellana of her daughter.

Ellana is just startled enough for the Spymaster to succeed, slipping the baby out of the elf’s arms and into her own. The mage is left standing, empty-handed, as Leliana turns away and starts walking towards Josephine, and the expression on her face has mirth threatening to compromise Josephine’s self-control. The diplomat takes a moment to compose herself before answering her friend. “She exaggerates, of course. I don’t believe I have finished even five letters today, and it was only _one_ trade agreement.”

“Of course,” Leliana agrees dryly as she adjusts the baby in her arms. “Because surely anyone else taking care of both an infant and an overgrown mage child while trying to negotiate with conceited nobles all afternoon would have completed much more than a few insignificant letters to various allies.”

“Oi!”

Both women ignore the indignant protest, Josephine simply raising an inquiring eyebrow at her friend as Leliana smiles sweetly back. The Spymaster takes just as much pleasure from needling the Inquisitor as Ellana herself does from her own pranks. But surely she didn’t come down here _just_ to bait the mage. “Was there something you needed, Leliana?”

The redhead shrugs, absentmindedly pulling Arissa’s fist from her mouth when the baby begins to suck on it. “I thought you might want to know what Cassandra has been up to. I received a missive just this morning.”

Josephine watched, amused, as Ellana abandons her indignant pout in favor of joining the conversation. “She hasn’t killed Bull and Sera yet, has she?”

“Not yet, but they have another two weeks before they return,” Leliana replies with an impish grin. It makes her look years younger. “I’m sure they will have tried Cassandra’s patience sufficiently by then.”

Josephine sighs, although it is more in sympathy for the Seeker than from any displeasure with the situation. “Do ask her not to murder them while still in Redcliffe, please, and to confine them to the town only if she must. Arl Teagan is being difficult enough as it is.”

That startles a chuckle out of both Leliana _and_ Ellana – not something she can often accomplish – and the Spymaster grins again. “Cassandra knows better than to keep those two in close quarters for extended periods of time.” She shifts Arissa to the other arm, freeing her right hand so she can reach for the missive at her belt and unfurl it expertly. “The first part is all business, of course, but Cassandra does write that Sera has not yet offended the Arl _too_ greatly, and that she has yet to convince the Iron Bull into something truly destructive. So I suppose it is going relatively well.”

Having read Cassandra’s missives from prior political-themed missions herself, Josephine knows that isn’t all. “And?”

Now Leliana is _smirking_. “And she writes that you should be grateful she has not yet taken a sword to the Arl for his insinuations about her presence. It appears he is quite put out about the Inquisition soldiers still being stationed nearby.” Josephine sighs. “It isn’t all bad, Josie. You have a diplomat also posted there, no? So Cassandra doesn’t have to see Teagan very often.”

“And she can take out her frustration on the soldiers,” Ellana chimes in from where she is now leaning against the wall beside Josephine’s window. “Poor sods probably don’t know what hit them.”

The mental image – Cassandra has done similar things in the courtyard of Skyhold, after all, so she does have memories to draw on – has a reluctant smile tugging at Josephine’s mouth. Still… “Be that as it may, I am sure the Arl does not take kindly to the Seeker ‘training’ Inquisition soldiers near his domain.” She drums her fingers on the desktop as she thinks, watching Leliana ignore her and Ellana in favor of bestowing lavish kisses on Arissa’s forehead and cheeks. Her daughter seems more bemused by the attention than bothered, at least. “I don’t suppose Cassandra would consent to hunt bears instead of harassing the soldiers? I’ve been told,” her gaze slides to Ellana, who shrugs unrepentantly, “that there are far too many in the surrounding area.”

“And Cassandra has a knack for drawing the damned things out,” the mage grumbles under her breath.

Josephine pretends not to hear. “Do you think Cassandra would find that a suitable compromise, Leliana?”

The Spymaster considers her words. “It will also give the Iron Bull and Sera something to focus on, so I believe she will agree.” Leliana turns around and heads towards the door. “I shall go write to her now.”

Ellana pushes off the wall with a frown when Leliana is halfway across the room, one hand reaching out. “Wait a min –” the door closes behind the redhead, “–ute.”  She turns to Josephine, her expression mildly alarmed. “Are you okay with her doing that?”

Josephine shrugs. If she has to trust Arissa with _anyone_ besides themselves, it would be Leliana. “I trust her; you trust her too, no? And Leliana knows how to care for babies. She’ll bring her back in good time.”

* * *

Josephine watches from her spot on the bed as Ellana paces the length of the room once more. “I just don’t like not knowing,” the mage protests, not for the first time. “What if something happens?”

The diplomat sighs – they have been going over the topic for nearly twenty minutes now, a majority of which has consisted of Ellana repeating her concerns. “As I said before, my darling, I agree. I just think we should speak with Dagna again first, to be sure.” When Ellana halts her steps, biting at her lip in consideration, Josephine presses her position. “Please?”

Ellana’s shoulders slump, the tension slowly draining away, and she nods. “As you wish, ma sa’lath.”

Josephine stands up, one hand reaching out to take Ellana’s as the Inquisitor walks closer to the bed. “We can go speak with her now, ‘Lana,” she offers, and is rewarded with a look of _relief_. “Come.” She disentangles their fingers just long enough to reach into the cradle and scoop up their daughter; Arissa is awake, having been seemingly content to stare at the colored lights Ellana’s glass dragon throws onto the ceiling, and burbles at her Mamae as Josephine settles her into Ellana’s arms. “Let us go visit the Arcanist.”

Dagna is tinkering at her workbench when they arrive at the Undercroft, a strange contraption on her head as she uses a sharp tool to engrave miniscule runes into the metal before her. It isn’t the first time Ellana has come down when the Arcanist is engrossed in her work, and the two have worked out a procedure – Ellana waits until the dwarf looks up from her work, then walks around the table and into Dagna’s line of vision. (This keeps the Inquisitor from startling Dagna and possibly disrupting a delicate project, which is to the benefit of all of Skyhold’s residents.)

Of course, since Arissa is still in Ellana’s arms, the first thing Dagna does upon noticing the pair is let out a squeal. “You brought her!”

Josephine has to suppress a smile at the Arcanist’s enthusiasm – she had immediately been entranced by the infant, and Arissa similarly captivated by the wide range of excited noises and exclamations Dagna is prone to making – and loses the battle when Arissa responds with a squeal of her own and wiggles in Ellana’s grasp.

Ellana grins at the dwarf as well, before getting down to business. “Dagna, do you have time to talk?”

The normally ebullient dwarf apparently senses the seriousness of the topic, because she immediately puts down her engraver and gives Ellana her full attention. “Sure, Inquisitor. What do you need?”

“We have been discussing the activation of Victoria’s gift to Arissa, and were hoping to ask your opinion on the matter,” Josephine explains, stepping forward to join Ellana when it looks as though the mage doesn’t quite know where to begin. “With Ellana’s presence soon required outside of Skyhold, and my own duties, we wish to…” She trails off, unsure how to state their concerns without seeming paranoid – though honestly, after the last four years, who could blame them? – but Dagna thankfully understands.

“Oh yeah, Vivienne – oh, sorry, Victoria – told me about the pendants before she left. Amazing work, you know, she’s the first one to have ever succeeded at making _warning_ protection amulets. It must have taken months to craft the rune base alone, then integrating the different stones into the framework would require unique binding spells, and…” she trails off, blushing sheepishly. “Ahem. Anyways, she told me what she did and how to bind Arissa’s when you were ready, so you just have to say the word, Ambassador.”

“Are you sure she’s old enough?” That is Ellana, her voice calm, but the tightness around her eyes betraying her worry. “I don’t want to wait, but…”

“Like I said before, Inquisitor, she’ll be fine. Her age shouldn’t affect the binding at all,” Dagna replies soothingly, and Josephine watches as the mage’s shoulders slowly relax. “D’you want me to check, just to be sure? It shouldn’t be hard to come up with a way to test her compatibility. Maybe if I use crystal grace and powered pyrophite with a cleansing rune base…yeah, that should work.”

The relief that saturates Ellana’s being is easy to see, so Josephine wraps a supporting arm around her beloved’s waist and answers for both of them. “That would be much appreciated, Dagna, thank you.”

“Sure, no problem! Just gimme ‘til this evening and I’ll have it ready,” is the cheerful response, and that is that.

Arissa is still awake when they return to their rooms – a distinct change from six weeks ago, when she would wake only to eat and then fall back asleep. Ellana takes advantage of their daughter’s alertness to start pointing out furniture in the room and giving their Elvish names – despite knowing that there is no way Arissa understands her at the moment – and Josephine smiles at the duo before herself taking advantage of Ellana’s distraction to complete some minor paperwork.

The missives and memos that have been crossing her desk as of recently have become progressively troubling: the nobles of Ferelden, Arl Teagan especially, have become increasingly resentful of the Inquisition’s continued presence on their borders and, if actions aren’t taken soon to pacify them, she fears that conflict may rear its ugly head once more. That must _not_ come to pass; they have barely begun to recover from the devastation Corypheus’s failed machinations has wrought. She may not stand on the front lines like her love does, but, as the Inquisition’s Ambassador, Josephine will do all in her power to prevent that confrontation from occurring.

The time until supper passes quickly, with Ellana staying behind in their rooms to look through Leliana’s reports and decide where to deploy the Inner Circle to next – which keeps her conveniently close to Arissa, so Josephine can go to her office unencumbered. She is only interrupted once, when Ellana brings their fussing daughter to her to nurse, and she is quite pleased with her progress; the large pile of papers waiting to be distributed to their various recipients lends visible confirmation of her productive afternoon.

Supper itself is subdued – they have begun to join the others for meals on occasion, but many of their suppers are still taken in their rooms – with Ellana lost in thought as she pushes food around her plate and occasionally remembers to bring it to her mouth.

After the second worried glance she catches Ellana stealing through the open doorway at Arissa’s cradle, Josephine reaches out and takes the mage’s hand. “She will be fine, my darling.” When the Inquisitor doesn’t seem appeased by the words, Josephine sighs. “You trust Dagna, yes?”

“Yeah, but…”

“And you trust Victoria?”

That agreement is longer in coming, but after a moment Ellana sighs. “Yeah.”

“Then believe that they will let no harm come to Arissa. Nor will I, and nor will you.” The last few years have left the both of them cautious – sometimes overly-cautious, according to some – of anything that might threaten their families, but Josephine knows Ellana’s fears run much deeper than her own. Yes, she had seen – had dealt with – dire situations during the course of the war, but always at one step removed. Ellana had _lived_ them, had experienced _exactly_ how fast events could shift from calm to life-threatening, and that knowledge has left an indelible mark on her psyche.

And she knows it is Ellana’s inability to do anything to secure Arissa’s safety in this matter that distresses the mage the most, so Josephine interlaces their fingers and tugs the elf up as she rises from the table. “Come with me, my darling.”

Ellana settles herself on the bed next to Josephine as she nurses their daughter, the mage seemingly content to simply sit there and toy with Arissa’s feet or stroke her back; the contact seems to calm her love, at least, and Josephine lets herself relax as well, shifting slowly sideways until she is cushioned against Ellana’s shoulder.

She presses a kiss to Ellana’s temple when Arissa has finished, and slips off the bed to lay the dozing baby in her cradle. She _could_ keep Arissa with her and awake until Dagna arrives, but the night will upsetting enough for Arissa as it is; she sees no reason to compound that distress by forcing their daughter to remain alert.

Ellana has already returned to the main room and Josephine follows after one last glance at Arissa, softly shutting the bedroom door behind her. She joins her love at the table once more, letting a comfortable silence grow between them. There is a smart rap of knuckles on their door twenty minutes later, startling Ellana out of her reverie, and Josephine chuckles before calling “Come in!”

Dagna pops her head into the room first, a cheerful grin on her face as she spies the two women at the table, before pushing the door open with her shoulder and backing into the room, since her arms are wrapped around a large box. “So, we ready?” Ellana is the first to rise from the table, with Josephine following only a beat later, and moves to relieve the dwarf of her burden. “Thanks!”

“Do you have everything you need, Dagna?” Josephine asks politely as she watches Ellana’s progress – Dagna practically hovering over the Inquisitor – back to the table.

“Yup, got a working test all ready to be used,” is the prompt reply. “You got baby Sym ready too?”

Even after a month, Josephine still has to bite back a laugh at the nickname the dwarf had come up with all those months ago. (She’s also rather impressed that Dagna _remembered_ that fleeting thought, but perhaps she shouldn’t be. The Arcanist’s mind is quite abstract and seems to hold onto the most insignificant of details, as long as they’re interesting.) “Yes, I shall get her now,” she responds, and places a hand on Ellana’s arm when the elf begins to protest that she’ll bring their daughter. “Why don’t you help Dagna set up? I’m sure you will understand far more than I, my love.”

Ellana subsides after a moment, and Josephine leaves the two – mage and magic enthusiast – to go wake Arissa.

The baby is asleep in her cradle when Josephine walks into the room, just as she had suspected, and the diplomat is hesitant to wake her. Only the knowledge that they’re unlikely to get any sleep tonight as it is convinces her to disturb Arissa’s slumber.

Her daughter fusses when Josephine scoops her up, wiggling in her arms and nuzzling her cheek against Josephine’s shoulder in an attempt to get comfortable so she can nod off – and begins to whimper when Josephine prevents her from doing so.

“I know, darling, I know, you’re tired,” she murmurs, swaying back and as she rubs one hand up and down Arissa’s back. “But we have to do this now or your Mamae might fret herself to death, and we can’t have that, can we?” It takes a combination of quiet shushes and soothing movements, but she manages to head off the building tantrum before it can get started. (They will, undoubtedly, be treated to inconsolable cries later that night, but that is the price they must pay.)

There are little bowls set out on the table when she returns to the main room, Arissa balanced against her shoulder and looking around the room groggily. Josephine recognizes the contents of one immediately as crystal grace – the rare herb is quite unique, after all – and the clear liquid in the second dish might be water, but the powder in the third dish and the runestone set in the middle are unfamiliar. She has no idea what Dagna’s ‘compatibility test’ will entail, but she trusts the Arcanist – and Ellana – to ensure nothing will harm their daughter, and so Josephine draws a breath and asks, “What do you need, Dagna?”

The dwarf points at the bowl of water. “Just a few drops of blood in there, and I’ll do the rest.”

She can feel her heart clench. Even if Dagna’s test didn’t require it, she _knew_ they would still have to draw Arissa’s blood to bind the pendant to her – that doesn’t mean she isn’t dreading it, however. She takes the seat Ellana offers to her, shifting Arissa in her arms until the infant is sitting sideways on her lap, leaning against her Mama’s stomach as Josephine’s arm supports her back and holds her close.

Dagna and Ellana move to either side of her chair, the dwarf with the bowl of water in her hand, and Ellana with a thin – and wickedly sharp – knife. “Are you ready?” Dagna asks, and Josephine watches as Ellana takes a deep breath and nods, before both turn their gazes to her. She can see the concern and worry in Ellana’s eyes, offset by her determination to protect their daughter, and nods as well.

The Inquisitor kneels, sitting back on her heels as she wraps a hand gently around Arissa’s right shin, the palm of her hand covering a majority of the baby’s lower leg. Arissa fusses at the contact, kicking her free leg and squirming in Josephine’s grasp, so the diplomat wraps her arms tighter around her daughter until Arissa is essentially swaddled by her embrace.  

She had meant to watch, had fully intended to even though the sight of blood is still discomforting – but when she sees Ellana barely touch the edge of that knife to Arissa’s heel, making sure of her target, Josephine finds she _can’t_. She curls herself over Arissa instead, pressing her mouth to soft hair and breathing in her baby’s unique scent, and –

There is a beat of silence before Arissa _wails_ , and Josephine feels her heart clench as her eyes squeeze shut. Her daughter jerks in her arms, but Josephine’s grip is too tight and Arissa wails louder in response. Josephine keeps her lips pressed to Arissa’s head as she pushes back the memories she thought she had put to rest of _blood_ and _terror_ and _guilt._ It’s the same but not, now, because there _is_ blood and there _is_ terror –although no longer her own – and there _is_ guilt, such overwhelming guilt that her heart aches because _she_ – _they_ , herself and Ellana, she reminds herself – _they_ are the reason Arissa hurts. (Intellectually, she knows that Arissa cries more out of startled distress than true pain, that the throbbing from small cut Ellana made is probably already receding, but intellect is nowhere to be found when her baby is crying in her arms.)

A hand on her shoulder makes Josephine start, and then Ellana’s voice is at her ear. “Josie, it’s done.”

Josephine uncurls, slipping an arm underneath Arissa’s legs and cuddles her close, one hand holding Arissa’s head against her shoulder as she rocks back and forth. Their daughter’s cries are already beginning to quiet, the momentary distress fading as Josephine soothes her, but it is still a minute before she feels steady enough to open her eyes and look up at Ellana where she stands next to the chair. (The elf’s bottom lip is red, undoubtedly bitten in concentration, and Josephine notices with a start that she has done the same thing.) “Did it work?” she asks, shifting her gaze to where Dagna is now standing at the table with her back to them.

The Arcanist turns around with that same bowl in her hands, but it’s now filled with a white-ish paste. “Just one last step, Ambassador. Inquisitor?” Ellana steps forward and takes the bowl from the dwarf as Dagna reaches back and grabs the rune still lying on the table, then swipes her finger through the concoction and smears the dollop onto the surface of the rune. There is a moment of stillness and Josephine feels worry begin to bubble up in her gut, but then the rune glows a soft white, and Dagna grins. “She’s clear.” A pause. “Not that it was ever in doubt, really.”

Josephine sends the dwarf a grateful look, regardless. “Nonetheless, thank you for humoring us, Dagna.”

“Sure thing, Ambassador. Anything for baby Sym here.” She looks between Ellana and Josephine, then shrugs. “So, we good to go?”

“Ah…” That is Ellana, her expression still troubled. “Before we start…do you think Arissa will suffer the same side-effects as we did?”

Dagna cocks her head. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t. What were the side-effects? Mental? Physical? I hope they weren’t emotional considering how the pendants work…”

“Physical, mostly,” Ellana responds with a grimace. “A day-long headache and fatigue.”

“Mm…yeah, she’ll probably feel the same thing. You’re gonna have one cranky baby tonight.”

“We expected nothing less.” Josephine shifts the still-whimpering Arissa in her arms, trying to turn the baby so she can see her daughter’s face, but Arissa has fisted a handful of her shirt and seems to have no intention of letting go. The movement tugs at the chain of her own pendant – apparently caught with the cloth – and Josephine’s eyes widen. “How will we keep the pendant on her? I don’t – we can’t put a necklace on her at this age, she’ll choke!”

Ellana looks ill at the thought, but Dagna is quick to reassure them. “You guys are wearing them because it’s easiest for you, but they don’t actually have to be _on_ you, just _near_ you. They’re blood-bound, remember? Besides, it’s not like she’ll be checking it, right?”

“Ah.” Josephine can _feel_ her shoulders slump in relief. “Then we shall address the matter at a later time.” She pauses, shifting her gaze down to Arissa once more. “I don’t suppose you can simply take blood from the same cut?” The question is laced with regret – she can already guess the answer.

“Sorry Ambassador, it has to be as fresh as possible,” Dagna confirms. “But it shouldn’t take more than a few seconds this time, I promise. Then she’s done.”

“Very well.” Josephine closes her eyes and drops a kiss on Arissa’s hair before settling the infant on her lap once more. “Let us get this over with.”

The second cut is just as distressing as the first, although Ellana makes an effort to minimize the wound. Arissa doesn’t wail this time, either, but continues to whimper and cry so pitifully that Josephine feels the overwhelming ache of her heart as a physical pang.

Even with her full attention focused on Arissa, Josephine feels the moment the binding takes; the stone against her chest begins to heat until it is the strength of a dying ember – hot enough to be noticed, but cool enough to not cause undue worry. Arissa’s cries also stop for a moment, as if she is categorizing this new sensation, before she renews her protests.

“Well!” Dagna claps her hands, stepping back from where Ellana – the smaller pendant clasped firmly in her hand – is kneeling at Josephine’s feet. “Seems it took, yeah?”

“It did,” Josephine confirms, temporarily freeing one hand to draw out her pendant. “We can feel her.”

“Good, good.” The dwarf turns and busily begins to pack up her materials. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning just to check and make sure it took well and all. Not that I expect any problems, of course. Flawless work, those things. I wonder if the Divine would be willing to share her schematics…” She wanders out the door, still muttering to herself.

Ellana watches her go, then turns her attention back to Josephine and Arissa. “How is she?”

It is a rhetorical question, with their daughter’s whimpers quite audible in the otherwise silent room, but Josephine answers regardless. “Upset. I do not believe her feet pain her, though.” She doesn’t miss the way Ellana practically wilts in relief at that reassurance. “It shall be a long night regardless, my darling.”

“I know.” Ellana engulfs Josephine – and by extension, Arissa – in a light hug before drawing back and looking down at the infant. “Poor da’ean.” When she slips her arms under the tiny – but growing so very quickly – body, Josephine lets her grip the baby loosen so Ellana can draw comfort from their daughter.

Arissa, however, refuses to cooperate. Her hand remains fisted in Josephine’s shirt, maintaining her grip even when Ellana tries to take a step back, and her whimpers begin to rise in volume. The Inquisitor winces but perseveres while Josephine works at the tiny fingers clinging to her desperately; a moment later she is free and takes a step back herself, watching her beloved try to adjust their now wailing daughter in her arms.

“Get some rest, Josie.” Ellana has to raise her voice to be heard over Arissa’s protests. “I’ll take care of her.”

Josephine wants to agree – exhaustion is dragging at her heart and mind – but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep, knowing Arissa is in distress because of herself and Ellana; her thoughts must be written on her face, though, because Ellana narrows her eyes in warning. “No. Even you can’t fall asleep, just lay down and rest. Please, ma sa’lath.”

It is the ‘please’ that undoes her and Josephine reluctantly agrees, walking slowly to the couch as she watches Ellana coo to the crying infant. It takes a few moments to settle herself against the cushions and her eyes slip closed in weariness, only to open once more when Ellana clears her throat pointedly. Josephine sighs. “ _Really_ , Ellana?” An amused stare is her only response, and Josephine scowls at the elf before maneuvering herself until she is laying down. “Happy?”

Ellana’s grin is cheeky, despite her own obvious fatigue. “I love you, Josie.”

Oh, but that isn’t _fair_ ; how is she supposed to remain irritated when Ellana pulls such dirty tricks? Josephine closes her eyes with a huff and hears Ellana laugh, barely audible over Arissa’s wails, as she starts moving towards their bedroom. Still, Josephine relents when she hears the door begin to close. “I love you too, my darling.” She pauses. “Even when you’re an ass.”

There is another laugh then she is alone, listening to Arissa’s cries slowly fade until they vanish – Ellana must have gone into the nursery. Well, she may as well _try_ to sleep, even if she doubts that…

Her eyes blink open moments later, compelled by some nebulous urge, and she frowns in confusion. She must have fallen asleep – the darkness of the room, disturbed only by the glow of embers in the fireplace, tells her as much – but why, then, has she awoken? Her question is answered a moment later when she hears the door to the bedroom open, and Ellana enters with a quietly wailing Arissa. Josephine immediately pushes herself upright, hands working at the buttons of her blouse, having recognized the cry as Ellana must have.

The elf’s rueful grimace is barely visible in the firelight as she approaches the couch. “I can’t help her with this one.”

Arissa is deposited in her arms and Josephine immediately positions the baby’s open mouth at her breast; silence blankets the room a moment later, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Ellana slump against the couch in exhaustion. “It is your turn to get some rest, my darling.” She turns her head when the mage begins to straighten, mouth open to protest, and pins her with a _look_. “Do not argue.”

She must be sufficiently convincing, because Ellana subsides after a moment with a resigned sigh. “If you say so, ma sa’lath.”

Josephine leans over to plant a kiss on Ellana’s forehead, one arm wrapped tightly around Arissa’s back and the other hand cradling the infant’s head to ensure she doesn’t accidentally dislodge her daughter, before cautiously standing. It’s the first time she’s tried moving about while nursing Arissa, but she manages to cross the room without disturbing the baby; she looks back once she reaches the door to see Ellana already stretched out on her side, her breathing soft and steady, and Josephine feels a smile tug at her lips despite her own fatigue.

The fire in the nursery is still going strong when she enters, and Josephine sends a silent ‘thank you’ to her love – Ellana must have stoked at some point that night. It is the only light in the nursery still; the sky she can see through the window when she takes a seat in the padded rocking chair is a deep velvet black spotted with stars, and she mentally places the time at just after midnight.

Josephine lets her mind drift as she sits and rocks, one hand softly stroking along Arissa’s cloth-covered back. She is only pulled from her musings when the baby begins whimpering once more, having apparently finished nursing for the moment; she frees one hand to tug her blouse closed once more, the other holding Arissa tightly against her shoulder in the hopes that the rocking will soothe her, but to no avail.

The next few hours fade into a monotonous blur of slowly walking around the room to keep Arissa from wailing as she softly shushes the baby, and letting her daughter suck on her little finger – which seems to comfort her for a short time, at least – as she sits in the rocking chair; by the time the pale grey of predawn slips in through the window, Josephine is _exhausted_ and all but asleep on her feet.

The quiet that slips over the room is so gradual – and her mind so clouded with fatigue – that Josephine doesn’t even realize Arissa has stopped crying until she looks down at the dark head currently lolling on her shoulder, one little hand fisted near Arissa’s barely open mouth, and sees equally dark eyelashes resting on downy cheeks.

_Thank the Maker._

Josephine finds herself holding her breath as she changes direction, walking slowly towards the rocking chair on sore feet and praying with every careful step that she does _not_ rouse the infant; her luck holds, and she even manages to lower herself into the rocking chair without waking Arissa. Her own heavy eyelids are already sliding shut by the time she begins rocking and Josephine doesn’t fight it, knowing she will wake the moment Arissa does.

A touch on her shoulder draws Josephine back to alertness instantly, her eyes snapping open to see Ellana beside her, looking at least _slightly_ more rested in the faint morning light. A quick glance confirms that Arissa is still passed out on her shoulder, and so Josephine raises her eyebrows at the Inquisitor, silently asking ‘what is it?’. Thankfully Ellana takes the hint, mouthing ‘Dagna’ back at her, and Josephine nods her understanding, then frowns. How is she to get up without disturbing Arissa?

Ellana’s mouth twitches and she extends her arms, clearly indicating that she will take their daughter. After a moment of consideration, Josephine agrees; undoubtedly Arissa will wake once Dagna examines her anyways. Sure enough, the infant begins fussing the moment she is transferred from her resting place to Ellana’s arms, clearly unhappy about the change.

Dagna is already settled at the table when the two women enter the main room, hands folded neatly in front of her. (Josephine suspects it’s as much to resist the temptation to examine things as it is an act of professionalism.) “How is she?” The dwarf’s voice is mercifully quiet.

“Tired,” Ellana answers with a shrug as she takes a seat beside the Arcanist, settling Arissa on her lap. “As are we.”

“Poor baby Sym.” Dagna’s expression is sympathetic. “Well, this shouldn’t take long, then I’ll let you be.”

True to her word, the examination takes only a couple minutes; Dagna holds a slate-grey rune near first Arissa’s necklace, then the baby herself, “to check that she’s not leaking any magic, ‘cause that’d be bad,” and then walking various distances from the table while holding the pendant as Josephine and Ellana watch. (Josephine has lent Arissa her finger once more and it has quieted their daughter, for the moment.) All must be as expected, since Dagna returns to the table with a smile. “She’s good, Inquisitor. Ambassador. Nothing to worry about.” She pauses, hands clasped in front of her once more. “Is there anything else you need? Any questions?”

Ellana glances quickly at Josephine, then turns back to the Arcanist. “I think we’re fine, Dagna. Thank you.”

“Sure, no problem Inquisitor. Just lemme know if there’s anything else I can help with.”

 Then the dwarf is gone, and Ellana is frowning down at the table. “Can I just stay here today?”

The question is rhetorical, as Josephine knows full well that the Inquisitor has already promised to meet with Cullen, Cassandra, _and_ Leliana today. Still, she answers anyways. “No, my darling. But I can promise we shall still be here upon your return.” Ellana’s face brightens at that, at least, and Josephine leans forward to kiss her gently. “Now go. Your duties await.”

The mage rolls her eyes but obeys, reluctantly letting Josephine scoop Arissa from her lap and retreat into the bedroom – although not before stopping the diplomat so she can press a kiss of her own to Arissa’s forehead. “Be good for Mama, da’ean.” Then she raises a hand and caresses Josephine’s cheek. “Try to get some rest, ma sa’lath. I love you.”

“And I, you, my darling. Now _go_.” And she does, laughing at the gentle push Josephine gives her towards the door, then she is gone and it is just herself and Arissa once more.

Arissa’s cries are mostly inaudible by the time Josephine has settled the both of them on the bed, the baby seeming to have tired herself out once more, for which Josephine is grateful; her head is already beginning to ache from lack of sleep, and her eyes feel as though she has rubbed sand into them. Even so _–_ the thought wanders through her mind as her eyes begin to slip shut, as she feels the uneven jerk of Arissa’s back slow under her hand until she knows her daughter has fallen asleep once more – even so, she wouldn’t trade the sense of security and relief she now feels for all the rest in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if I used this word in the last chapter, but if I didn't - da'ean = little bird. I really liked it as an endearment for Arissa!


	15. Year One: Firsts (Months 4-6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies aren't the only ones who can lay claim to 'firsts'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said this would take a while, I honestly didn't expect it to be four months!! But progress on the chapter was sporadic, especially as I prepped for my Candidacy Exam...which I passed in early March. So I really have no excuse for the laggardly pace of the writing of this chapter except that my brain refused to cooperate with my will, and finding the correct words to express what I saw in my head was...quite difficult.
> 
> Still, it is finally finished, much thanks to penandscoot for putting up with my many many questions and pleas for help, and chipperdyke for helping me to clean up the final product!

**Year One – Firsts**

“Rwaaaar! Whoosh! Here comes the dragon!”

Josephine doesn’t bother trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she listens to her beloved play with Arissa on the bed. Most of her attention remains fixed on the work in front of her, but a good ambassador must be able to multi-task – and she can think of no better use for that ability than this.

A strangely muffled sound has her turning in her seat in confusion to see Ellana with her face pressed against Arissa’s stomach as the baby squeals and flails her limbs, hands batting as best she can – while she can make her arms go where she wants, Arissa’s aim is still rather poor – at Ellana’s head; the glancing blows prompt the elf to raise herself up onto her elbows once more with a laugh, a wide grin on her lips as she beams down at their daughter and Arissa grins and burbles right back.

Arissa had started smiling at them two months ago – a toothless grin that shows her pink gums and more often than not has drool slipping down her chin, but it is still the most adorable sight Josephine has ever seen. Ellana is equally as enchanted and does her best to coax out as many smiles as possible out of Arissa – no matter how silly she must act.

Josephine turns back to her work before Ellana can catch her looking – not that she thinks it is likely, considering how focused the mage is on the infant. Still, the mage seems so… _unfettered_ …when she thinks no one is watching her with Arissa, as though all the cares of the world heaped upon her shoulders have temporarily vanished.

The next fifteen minutes pass similarly, with the occasional exclamation or strange noise from Ellana sometimes drowning out the quiet scratching of Josephine’s quill as she makes notes to herself and searches stoically through stacks of parchment in search of certain documents.

“Josie, look!”

The diplomat finishes scribing her thought before turning around expectantly, a small smile on her lips; Ellana has pushed herself forward until her face is hovering over Arissa’s, her shoulder-length hair – unbound, since she doesn’t have to worry about fighting at the moment – draped around the infant and mostly shielding her from view. It takes Josephine a moment to see what Ellana was trying to call her attention to – since it was, after all, partially blocked by the loose tresses – but then the mage shifts, hair parting to reveal the tip of one pointed ear, and Josephine feels her heart melt: Arissa has both arms up and is patting at her Mamae’s cheeks and nose with clumsy coordination, tongue pressing forward in concentration even as she grins widely, and it is one of the cutest sights Josephine has ever seen.

Her eye is caught by a flash of color near Ellana’s elbow – the plush dragon the mage had been teasing Arissa with, evidently discarded – and she rises to her feet with an impish grin as an idea strikes. It takes her only a few steps forward to reach out with one arm and snag the toy’s tail,  her other hand coming to rest palm down on Ellana’s upper back as she stops beside her beloved. “I see, my darling.”

Ellana turns her head to beam up at Josephine, garnering a displeased grunt from Arissa as her hands are dislodged. “Ir abelas, da’ean!” She quickly returns to her former position, distracted, and Josephine takes that moment to act.

The plush dragon is heavy enough that Ellana notices the weight when it is positioned on her shoulder blade, and large enough that the head ends up level with Ellana’s ear; Josephine has to stifle a laugh at the comical way the elf strains to see the dragon without disrupting Arissa a second time – but she needn’t have bothered. Their daughter’s previous goal is forgotten the moment Arissa catches sight of her toy; an excited burble escapes her lips – as do a few bubbles – as she clumsily attempts to grab the dragon’s nose.

Ellana shifts, shoulders rolling with the motion, and the dragon is dislodged from its perch; Arissa’s head turns to follow the falling toy, her Mamae utterly ignored in favor of the bright familiar object, and this time Josephine doesn’t even try to mask the giggle that escapes her when Ellana turns her head from the baby and pouts in response. “I’m afraid your appeal has been supplanted by a mere toy, my darling.”

Ellana huffs.

“Don’t ever change, my love.” The diplomat bends over to place a light kiss on first Ellana’s forehead, then Arissa’s – the baby doesn’t react apart from scrunching up her nose as she attempts to wiggle herself closer to the dragon – before patting the mage on the shoulder and taking a step back. “I have a bit more correspondence to finish, then I shall be done for the moment.”

“Mm.” Ellana’s attention is already drifting back to where their four-month-old daughter is now grasping at the blanket beneath her, but Josephine can’t bring herself to mind; how could she? She herself is, after all, guilty of the exact same offence.

Josephine returns to her work and soon loses herself once more in the parsing of information – a task just as vital as the Spymaster’s, in its own way. Seemingly insignificant actions such as a chance noble visit to a friend’s estate or a lady wife’s anger over a gift from her husband…they paint a subtle picture of alliances and feuds amongst the nobility that few could even begin to see, had they not her training and knowledge.

She is recording the most recent intelligence from Comte du Freyen’s estate – the man had suddenly ordered his whole armory be inspected, tended, and restocked; really has he no sense of subtlety? – when an unfamiliar sound reaches her ears, and she stills mid-word, train of thought forgotten, as she turns towards the two on the bed once more.

Ellana is leaning over Arissa once more, hair swept over her opposite shoulder and giving Josephine a clear view of her profile as the elf scrunches her face up and sticks her tongue out, and then…the sound that escapes Arissa’s mouth is high-pitched and breathy, but unmistakably a _laugh_.

Josephine keeps her eyes fixed on their daughter as she stands and moves to join her beloved on the bed, one hand automatically seeking out Ellana’s as the elf beams down at the infant with an adoring smile. “‘Lana, what did you do?”

She sees the mage shrug helplessly in her periphery. “I don’t know, I just made a face like this –” she contorts her features again, tongue extending from between pursed lips, and Josephine feels a doting smile curving her own lips at the high-pitched giggle that is Ellana’s reward.

“And she laughed,” Josephine completes the thought; she reaches out with her free hand to stroke a downy cheek, laughing a little herself when Arissa turns her head to try and gum her fingers. “Do you think she might laugh if I were to do the same?”

Ellana tilts her head, studying first her, then Arissa. “You won’t know until you try, yes?”

Josephine casts her gaze heavenward at the oh-so-helpful response. “Thank you, Ellana.” Her love isn’t wrong, though. Josephine reclaims her now-wet fingers, drawing Arissa’s attention to her parents once more, and screws up her face as she sticks out her tongue. (If anyone were to suggest to the Inquisition’s visitors that the poised and refined Ambassador engaged in such undignified activities, they would surely be made a laughingstock – and that is how Josephine prefers it. She is a private person, and her spontaneous moments are reserved for family and family alone.)

Arissa’s response is to beam back at her Mama and kick her legs happily, but that is all. Josephine is slightly disappointed that she isn’t able to elicit a laugh from their daughter, but she pushes the emotion aside; of far more importance is Ellana’s joy and Arissa’s happy burbling. So instead of making a fuss, she scoops Arissa up off her blanket and sits the baby on her lap. If she can’t make her daughter laugh, then she shall settle for the next best thing: holding her as she laughs at her Mamae’s antics.

* * *

The night air isn’t as chilly as it had been when Arissa was born – for which Ellana is thankful – but it is still cool enough to make her shiver as she descends the stone steps to the grounds. She has already checked the wailing bundle cradled against her chest four times, confirming and reconfirming that the five-month-old is sufficiently protected from the cold – although she knows it isn’t the temperature that is upsetting the infant.

No, Arissa’s distress stems solely from the two raised white spots on her gums.

Josephine had stayed with their daughter for most of the day, working at the desk in their room as Arissa slept fitfully, but she spent more time trying to soothe the cranky infant than attending to her duties; when Ellana had arrived back at their rooms that evening, she took one look at Josephine and stated she was taking night duty, no arguments. It was a testament to the Antivan’s exhaustion that she didn’t even try to protest.

And that is why she is now pacing the grounds with their teething daughter in her arms, hoping that Arissa will tire herself out – or that her gums will miraculously stop hurting – so they can both get some rest. (She isn’t betting any gold on either possibility, though.)

Her wandering steps take them closer to The Herald’s Rest; the tavern is still lit up even this late at night, though most of the usual patrons appear to have already left. Cabot must enjoy the quiet after an evening full of rowdy songs and loudly inebriated soldiers, Ellana muses, then winces as Arissa’s wails increase in volume – the infant seems intent on single-handedly remedying that disparity in noise.

She is heading for the stairs leading up to the battlements – in the hope that the view of the night sky over the mountains might distract Arissa from her discomfort, though she finds it unlikely – when the door to the tavern opens and the Iron Bull steps out.

“Thought I heard you and the kid out here.” An apology is already on Ellana’s lips, but the Qunari waves one large hand before she can give it voice. “Didn’t disturb me or nothin’, don’t worry.” He peers at the now whimpering bundle in her arms, Arissa having quieted once more at the sound of a new voice. “What’s got her all upset?”

Ellana heaves a weary sigh. “She’s teething. Aeryn told us some things we give her to try and make it less painful, but…” she shrugs helplessly. “Nothing’s worked.”

The light from the tavern illuminates the warrior’s curious expression as he cocks his head. “Like what?”

The elf shifts Arissa in her arms, hoisting her daughter further upright and readjusting the blankets around the small body. A quick check of the infant’s face shows that her tears have stopped for the moment, although a whimper escapes every two or three breaths; still, Arissa’s distress seems to have abated for the moment, and Ellana can feel her shoulders relax slightly at the realization. Only then does she answer the Iron Bull’s question. “She suggested we give her something hard, or cold, or our fingers to chew on, but Arissa didn’t like any of them. I think her mouth hurts too much.”

“So she needs a pain-killer?” Bull summarizes with a wry grin, and Ellana rolls her eyes – but nods.

“Pretty much. But we can’t give her an elfroot potion or painward, her body can’t handle it.” It was the first thing she had asked Aeryn, since her party is so dependent upon the two draughts when on missions, but the healer had rejected the idea in no uncertain terms.

The Qunari hums in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his harness and tapping thick fingers on one muscled bicep. Ellana ignores him as he thinks, choosing instead to focus her attention back on Arissa – which is good, since one of the infant’s fists has escaped her cocoon and is now clutching at the few escaped tendrils of hair that fall to her shoulders. Ellana untangles the insistent fingers before her daughter can yank – she has already experienced _that_ unfortunate outcome more than once – and then winces when Arissa’s whimpers start up again; she hadn’t even noticed them stop.

Which is the lesser evil – letting Arissa distract herself by continuing to pull on her Mamae’s hair, or saving herself the pain and letting Arissa suffer instead? The choice is an easy one, and Ellana lets go of Arissa’s small hand with a sigh. The things she does for her daughter.

“Hey, Boss…” The Iron Bull speaks slowly, drawing out the words as he continues to think. “I might know how to help the kid.” He drums his fingers against his bicep once more before nodding decisively and uncrossing his arms. “Follow me.”

Ellana is baffled but does as he asks, following the large warrior as he turns and leads them into The Herald’s Rest; the heat is a nice change from the cooler night air outside, and the mage reminds herself to loosen Arissa’s blankets if the babe gets fussy. (Well, fussier.)

The tavern is as empty as she had expected, with only a few of Bull’s Chargers, Sera, and the barkeep Cabot in attendance. Krem looks up from the table most of them are gathered at and nods a welcome, but their presence is, for the most part, ignored as the Iron Bull continues past his group towards the bar.

Cabot looks up from where he’s wiping down the rough wooden surface with a dirty rag and grunts when Bull stops in front of him and plants his hands on the counter. “Yeah?”

“You got any brandy left?”

The half-hearted circles of the rag stop as Cabot thinks, then resume as the man grunts again. “Yeah. In the back.” There is tense silence for nearly fifteen seconds before Cabot looks up again and rolls his eyes at the Qunari. “What, you wan’ it now?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead tossing the rag onto the half-cleaned bar and reaching down under the counter. “Bit late to be drinking the hard stuff, innit?”

The Iron Bull’s response is a shrug as he takes the unopened bottle from Cabot, dropping a few silvers into the man’s open hand in exchange. “Thanks.” He turns towards Ellana and jerks his head towards his usual seat in clear instruction; she raises an eyebrow in return but does as he asks, retreating from the bar to settle herself and Arissa in one of the smaller chairs set nearby.

The Qunari drops heavily into his larger seat a few moments later, leaning back into its wooden embrace with a sigh. “Good man, Cabot. Most ’keeps wouldn’ta put up with me askin’ so close to closing.” A decisive nod, then the warrior pushes himself forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting the bottle dangle from his fingers. “So. ‘Bout the kid.”

Ellana follows his gaze down to where Arissa is now attempting to chew on one corner of her blanket – with little success. As if sensing the attention on her, the infant looks up at her Mamae and pats a hand against Ellana’s shoulder in response. The gesture draws a smile from the elf, and she grins down at her daughter in turn before planting a quick kiss on her forehead. “Yes, we’re talking about you.” She continues to keep most of her focus on Arissa, only glancing up to absently prompt, “What about her?”

“Well, I remembered something the Tamasserans used ta use on the babes who were startin’ to cut teeth.”

The liquor bottle is extended until it is within Ellana’s line of sight, and she frowns at it, confused. “And this has what, exactly, to do with your brandy?”

“You’re gonna use it on her gums.” The Iron Bull’s voice is a slow drawl, as though she is being deliberately obtuse, and for a few seconds Ellana can only stare at him in shock, her jaw working silently as she tries to formulate a response.

Finally, the words come on the end of a harsh exhale, laden with disbelief. “We can’t poison her, so you want to get my daughter _drunk_ instead?”

“Nah, not for another couple years, at least –”

“ _Bull!_ ”

She can see him cast his eye to the ceiling as if asking for patience, but he stops baiting her. “Breathe, Boss.” He doesn’t speak again until she has done just that, Arissa shifting against her chest as she inhales. “It’s just a drop or two, alright? Not enough to do any harm.” When Ellana doesn’t immediately protest, the warrior nods his approval of her restraint. “Get a little on your finger, run it over her gums, and she’ll calm right down.”

Still, she hesitates – she’d rather run the idea past Josephine or Aeryn, but her beloved needs her rest and Aeryn has surely gone to bed for the night, and Arissa is in pain _now_.

The Iron Bull must see her wavering, because he prompts, “C’mon, don’t tell me your Clan didn’t use spirits for all kinds of things.”

Now that he mentions it, Ellana does recall a rather liberal and varied use of the alcohol her clan distilled – or purchased from towns and wandering traders – during their travels: poured over an open wound, holding down the injured clansman down as he screamed; given to a child who had fallen out of a tree and badly broken her leg, knocking her out so they could set it without causing further distress; maybe, _maybe_ , even used by a nursing mother? She narrows her eyes in concentration, trying to catch the fleeting memory – a leather waterskin, half empty and discarded on a stump next to a young woman as she rubs a finger over her crying son’s gums. A tug on her hair pulls Ellana from her reverie, and the image is gone.

She looks down at her daughter’s upturned face, taking in the way Arissa’s eyebrows are beginning to pull together as she yanks again, clearly trying to get her Mamae’s attention – and sighs. “Just a drop or two?”

“Yeah.” Bull’s confirmation is accompanied by a serious nod, and that reassures Ellana just a little bit more. Then a smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth, and that reassurance vanishes. “Besides, what’ve you got to lose?”

Well, when he puts it like _that_ …she sighs again, letting her cheeks puff with the exhalation. “Fine. _But_ ,” and the triumphant light in the Iron Bull’s eye wanes when she jabs a finger towards his chest, “if Josie gets mad about this, I’m blaming _you_.”

The warrior laughs. “Fair enough.”

Ellana turns Arissa in her arms – steeling herself against her daughter’s unhappy whimpers when she extracts her hair from Arissa’s grip – so the infant is propped on her lap, leaning into the arm wrapped around her small body, and her head supported by the crook of Ellana’s elbow. A quick glance upwards at the Qunari has the Iron Bull hastily breaking the seal on the bottle and holding it out so Ellana can dip a finger into the brandy.

“Well,” Ellana tilts her finger so the drop of liquor slowly spreads into a thin film, “here goes nothing.” She places her fingertip against Arissa’s lips, expecting them to part under the touch –

And, of course, Arissa refuses to open her mouth.

“Come on, da’ean, now isn’t the time to be stubborn…” Ellana jostles her arm slightly, trying to cajole her daughter into cooperating, but Arissa turns her head away and attempts to burrow into Ellana’s stomach. The elf frowns and tries again, pressing against the corner of Arissa’s mouth and then stroking up her cheek – the infant turns to follow the sensation, lips immediately parting as if to nurse, and Ellana takes full advantage of the opening.

She runs the pad of her finger along first the outside of Arissa’s gums, then across the tops, wincing in sympathy as she brushes over the raised ridge of a budding tooth. Her fingertip is wet with saliva when she draws back, and she reaches out with an impish smile to wipe it on the Iron Bull’s pants, ignoring his indignant “Hey!”

“How long do you think it will take for the brandy to work?” Ellana’s gaze is fixed on her daughter’s face, watching as Arissa scrunches her nose and works her tongue in protest of the remedy. Still, she isn’t whimpering anymore, which counts for something – although whether it means the brandy has already begun to work or the infant is simply distracted from the pain, however, is up for debate.

The Iron Bull’s response is a casual shrug. “I dunno, never stuck around long enough to watch.” Ellana rolls her eyes but doesn’t pursue the matter further, and a comfortable silence falls between the two.

To Ellana’s surprise, only a minute passes before Arissa’s eyelids begin to droop and her little body – previously tense with pain – relaxes fully in the elf’s embrace, Ellana feels the worried tension flee her own muscles; her head falls forward for a moment as she sags in the rough wooden chair, then she lifts it just enough to meet the Iron Bull’s smug grin. She doesn’t deign to acknowledge the expression – the warrior’s ego is large enough already – and instead holds out her free hand, palm up. “So, do I get to keep the brandy?”

When Ellana leaves the Herald’s Rest, it is with Arissa – wrapped snugly in her blankets once more – tucked inside her Mamae’s jacket to protect her face from the cold wind, and a barely depleted bottle of brandy hanging from her free hand. The return journey to their rooms is both quicker and quieter than her departure, for which Ellana is quite grateful. (They may no longer be in the depths of winter, but the night air is still cold enough to numb her fingers in mere minutes.) Still, the hour is past midnight when she carefully pushes open their front door and slips into the darkened room.

The bedroom door is ajar, the floor beyond barely visible in the flickering light of the banked fire; the bed is hidden mostly in shadow, but Ellana can see the faintest outline of Josephine’s sleeping form silhouetted by the moonlight.

Ellana spends a whole five seconds seriously debating the merits of sleeping on the couch with Arissa to avoid waking Josephine, before dismissing the thought as foolish – both she and Arissa will be far more comfortable in their own beds, and she has _no_ intention of causing their daughter to wake up due to discomfort any earlier than necessary. She looks down at the small head of dark hair still nestled against her chest, and heaves a silent sigh. “Wish me luck, da’ean.”

Luck is not on her side. Ellana has only just skirted the foot of the bed when Josephine stirs, groggily pushing herself into an upright position. “‘Lana? Are you back?”

The mage winces, but moves to stand just next to the fireplace so Josephine can see them without having to strain her eyes. “We’re back, ma sa’lath,” she confirms quietly. “And Arissa is finally asleep.” She begins to move towards the cradle still placed beside their bed, but then Josephine pushes herself further upright and extends her arms in a wordless request; Ellana hesitates, looking down at the sleeping baby pressed against her chest. “Are you sure you won’t wake her?”

The Antivan hesitates for a moment, arms lowering, clearly weighing her own need to cuddle their daughter against the possibility of a sleepless night – the need for reassurance wins, and Ellana can’t refuse the mute plea in Josephine’s eyes. “As you wish, ma sa’lath.”

She sets down the decanter of brandy before moving to sit on the bed (Josephine hasn’t asked her about the bottle yet, and Ellana promises herself she will tell her love about it tomorrow, but tonight she is _tired_ ); it’s more difficult than she anticipated to untangle Arissa from her coat without disturbing the blanket wrapped around the small body but she manages, and the naked love on Josephine’s face as she cradles the sleeping infant is worth the risk of her rousing.

A loose lock of hair slips down to cover Josephine’s face as she bends her head to kiss Arissa’s forehead, and Ellana can feel her fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and tuck it back behind the Antivan’s ear; she gives into the impulse, hand reaching out, but her fingertips have barely brushed the tress when Josephine’s head snaps up, her eyebrows knit into a frown.

“Ellana,” Josephine’s tone is accusing as her eyes bore into Ellana’s, and the mage can feel herself cringe in response, “why does our daughter smell like brandy?”

There is a deadly promise in Josephine’s gaze, and so Ellana throws the Iron Bull to the wolves without a qualm. “It was Bull’s idea!”

Josephine, however, isn’t mollified. “Ellana, what did you _do_.”

It seems she won’t escape the interrogation that easily – not that she had really expected to; Josephine is just as protective of their daughter as she herself is, after all – so the elf sighs, and reaches out to rest one hand on Arissa’s chest where the infant is still nestled, sound asleep, in her Mama’s arms. “She was still hurting, Josie. And Bull suggested maybe putting brandy on her gums would work, because they did it in the Qun, and I couldn’t give him a good reason why it wouldn’t work for Arissa –”

Josephine’s free hand landing on her knee cuts Ellana off, and she looks up from where she has been watching her fingers pick fretfully at the comforter. There is a small, wry, smile tugging at one corner of the diplomat’s mouth, and her gaze – when she manages to catch Ellana’s – is fondly exasperated. “What am I do to with you, my darling?” Ellana lets the rhetorical question slide by, unanswered, and Josephine sighs into the silence. “There is nothing we can do tonight, regardless. We shall simply have to wait until the morning, and then call upon Aeryn. At least she is finally sleeping.” Then Josephine’s eyes narrow and she pins Ellana in place once more. “But _do not_ do this again until Aeryn sanctions it, Ellana. Promise me.”

Given her own doubts earlier that night, Ellana doesn’t even have to think about her answer as she gazes at their sleeping daughter once more. “I promise, ma sa’lath.”

* * *

As Arissa has grown, she and Ellana have worked out a schedule – one that changes as their daughter’s needs change as well. Now that Arissa stays awake for longer periods of time – and nurses less often – Josephine has taken to working through most of the morning, then returning to their rooms just before dinner to join Ellana in playing with their daughter. (That hour of free time between the meal and her return to the office is her favorite period of the day – Arissa is alert and energetic, babbling responsively at them as they play.)

Some afternoons, Arissa returns to the office with her – either awake or napping, depending on the day; other times, Dorian, Bull, Leliana, or even Aeryn – the only four people they trust, apart from themselves, to watch over Arissa – will offer to mind the infant so both she and Ellana can tend to their duties. That has been less often, as of late, as Arissa has taken to latching onto Josephine – or less frequently, Ellana – and wailing when anyone else attempts to hold her, and so the diplomat has a clingy companion with her as she works in the afternoons.

This morning, Josephine had managed to leave their rooms without undue fuss from Arissa – a good omen for the rest of the day. By midmorning, she has already managed to reply to a majority of her correspondence and now deliberates over the wording of one of their more stringent trade agreements.

She is deep enough in thought that the unexpected knock on her door startles her, but quickly regains her composure and calls for the person to enter; she is mildly surprised to see that her visitor is one of Leliana’s scouts instead of a messenger or one of the other Skyhold staff, but lets her expression show only polite welcome as the scout comes to a crisp halt before her desk.

“Lady Ambassador, a message for you.” The young woman – she can’t be older than twenty – waits until Josephine inclines her head in acceptance before continuing. “A Dalish Clan has been sighted at the foot of the mountain. Initial estimates place them half a day’s travel from Skyhold.”

With her message delivered, the scout turns smartly on her heel and prepares to head back out to her post, but Josephine’s voice forestalls her. “Wait! Has the Inquisitor been told?” Surely she should be informed that her people are nearby.

The scout glances back at Josephine, confusion plain in her expression. “She was with the Nightingale, my lady. It was she who asked that you be informed.”

Josephine frowns, but lets the scout go; the young woman won’t know anything more than she has already said. Still, it is difficult to bring her mind back to her duties, her brain turning the puzzle of the Clan’s presence – and Ellana’s sending a messenger to inform Josephine, rather than coming herself – over and over, until she gives up the completion of any further work as doomed to failure.

It takes her a minute to tidy her desk and lock away any important missives, but she crests the steps of the Rookery soon enough. She barely has time to take in the sight of Ellana standing near the window with Leliana, Arissa hoisted in her arms so she can look out over Skyhold, before her daughter spots her and immediately reaches out.

Both women turn at the movement – Leliana nodding a greeting, and Ellana smiling briefly at the diplomat before returning her attention to the Spymaster. Arissa, however, is not content to remain in Ellana’s arms now that her Mama is in her sights; she begins to fuss, arms stretched insistently towards the Antivan as Josephine crosses the room.

She practically falls out of Ellana’s grasp and into Josephine’s the moment the diplomat is in reach, burying her small face against Josephine’s collarbone and wrapping both arms firmly around her Mama’s neck. The Ambassador has become accustomed to this behavior over the last few weeks, sometimes unable to even move more than a few feet away from her daughter without Arissa beginning to protest – often with loud wails, but other times letting out heart-wrenching little sobs as tears roll down her cheeks, and _how_ is she supposed to ignore such distress? So Josephine simply adjusts Arissa in her grip so she can support the infant with one arm, and turns her attention to the two women in front of her.

There is no point in playing word games with either of them, so Josephine gets straight to the point. “Why has a Dalish Clan come to visit Skyhold?” She keeps her gaze on Leliana, addressing the next question to her. “Do you know their intent?” She isn’t sure – doesn’t want to assume – that their visitors are Clan Lavellan, though she can’t think of any other Clan that might venture anywhere _near_ Skyhold. And if it is Clan Lavellan, what do they want?

It is Ellana who confirms her suspicions though, not Leliana. “From what Leliana’s scouts report, Clan Lavellan has come to call upon the Inquisition, intent unknown.” When Josephine begins to frown, confused as to why Ellana has phrased it so – surely, if her Clan is here, the Inquisitor has invited them? But no such missive has crossed her desk… – the elf raises her hands to show her innocence. “I didn’t invite them, Josie. I’m not sure why they’re here.”

And Josephine would believe her love, if Ellana’s eyes hadn’t flicked to the side and down when she said so; she may not have invited her Clan, but she _does_ have some idea as to why they have come. Still, Josephine doesn’t push for a straight answer – whatever the reason is, it seems to have extinguished any joy Ellana might have felt about being reunited with her Clan after five long years.

Is it simply because she doesn’t feel as though they are her family anymore? Ellana certainly hasn’t talked about them at all and, as far as the Ambassador is aware, hasn’t sent any letters to her Clan since the Arbor Wilds, three years ago. Josephine herself can’t imagine going even months without talking to her family, but apart from those first few questions the Ambassador had asked about living among the Dalish, Ellana has made no mention of the life she left behind, save that her Clan would have trouble replacing her as a First. Surely – her mind stutters as she follows that train of thought and ice water floods her veins – surely they haven’t come to call Ellana back to her former position, surely they wouldn’t have waited five years to do so.

No. She cannot let such speculation run rampant, not when there is no basis for her fears. Josephine thrusts the thoughts away, turning her mind instead to the logistics of such a visit. “When can we expect a messenger?”

The question is addressed to both women, but again it is Ellana that answers, a sardonic laugh briefly escaping as one corner of her mouth twitches. “They won’t send a messenger, Josie. I expect the Clan elders will come to see us in person, if they aren’t already on their way.”

Leliana had eased back as they talked, watching with her arms crossed and face blank, though Josephine could tell that the Spymaster has some further knowledge of the situation – still, Leliana won’t share her insights until it suits, so the diplomat had kept her attention on Ellana. Now, the former bard steps forward once more. “My spies have already noted a small party beginning the trek up the mountain pass. At their current pace, they should arrive by mid-afternoon.”

Josephine doesn’t miss the way Ellana’s eyes flick towards the former bard in surprise at that pronouncement – apparently the Inquisitor hadn’t been party to that knowledge either – and feels her lips twitch with ill-timed amusement; when Ellana’s gaze returns to her a moment later, she has schooled her expression into equanimity once more. They still have business to attend to. “That does not give us much time to prepare.” They will have to arrange escorts, stabling for any mounts they may bring, possibly refreshments after such a long journey…housing? “Ellana, will they require accommodations?”

The mage shakes her head. “They’ll return to the Clan at night.”

“Ah.” She returns to her thoughts, absentmindedly shifting Arissa to her hip when the infant squirms in her arms. Should she ask Cullen to lend her a few soldiers as escort for their guests, or trust that the residents of Skyhold will be able to comport themselves around the Dalish? One would hope that after four years of a Dalish mage leading the Inquisition, the people would be accustomed, but it is dangerous to assume such restraint without safeguards in place.

For that matter… “Will they want to meet only with you, ‘Lana?”

Her beloved scowls, vallaslin wrinkling as her eyebrows draw together. “It doesn’t matter if they want to talk with me alone or not, any meeting will be with the both of us, or not at all.” Her tone, previously firm and argumentative, turns vulnerable. “But only if you want to be included, ma sa’lath. I know you have other duties…”

The matter isn’t even in question. “Of course, my darling.” She reaches out with her free hand to grasp Ellana’s, and the elf’s fingers automatically curl around her own.

A polite cough to her right draws Josephine’s attention to Leliana once more – the former bard has her arms crossed and her foot tapping, her expression expectant. “If you are quite done? I’m sure you both have matters to attend to, before your guests arrive.”

The words seem harsh but the hidden smile playing around the corners of her mouth betrays Leliana’s humor, and so Josephine merely sighs in tolerant amusement. “Come, my darling. Let us leave the peerless Spymaster to her work.”

They are halfway down the stairs to the library when Josephine hears Leliana calling after them, “And, Josie, if you require someone to watch Arissa…” and has to stifle a giggle as she raises her free hand in acknowledgement.

She lets Ellana take the lead back to their rooms, listening contentedly as the elf points out various features of Skyhold to their daughter along the way. Arissa has progressed from licking her lips to grabbing at her Mama’s top by the time Ellana opens the door, so Josephine crosses the room and settles on the couch as she positions the infant with the ease of long practice. Ellana doesn’t immediately join them, instead pacing the perimeter of the room once before stopping opposite Josephine; she leans against the table with her arms crossed, fingers drumming restlessly against her bicep, and her gaze averted.

Josephine frowns when a minute passes and Ellana still doesn’t look up from her intensive study of the floor. “‘Lana.” The Inquisitor’s eyes snap up to meet hers, expression abstracted, and Josephine waits until her beloved focuses on her face before continuing. “They have no power over you now.”

It is a shot in the dark, an attempt to reassure the elf when she doesn’t know the cause of Ellana’s worries, but somehow it seems to have been exactly the right thing to say; Ellana’s shoulders drop as the tension leaves her and she pushes away from the table, crossing the room to sit on the couch next to the Antivan. She remains silent and Josephine doesn’t press her to answer, content to let Ellana rest her head against the diplomat’s shoulder as her fingers play aimlessly with Arissa’s dark hair.

She remains leaning against Josephine for only a short time, however, before straightening with a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I had better go finalize those patrol schedules with Cullen now, then, since it seems my afternoon will be otherwise occupied.” She bends to kiss the top of Arissa’s head, then Josephine. “I love you, ma sa’lath. I shall see you this afternoon.”

 

Appearances are half the battle in negotiations; Josephine knows this intimately, and so she takes care to arrange herself and Ellana – Arissa is napping in their rooms with Leliana watching over her, to the Spymaster’s delight – to advantage, with the light framing them as she sits in her chair and Ellana stands beside it, face solemn. There is the expected knock on her door, and after a polite pause one of her attachés pushes open the door and bows the five Dalish elders into the room, then closes the door softly behind them. The eldest Dalish, holding an intricately carved staff without needing to lean on it, is the first to approach, hands out to Ellana. “Da’len, it is good to see you so well, and after so many years.” Her voice is rough with age and heavily accented – whether from her years in the Free Marches, or if it’s inherent to her clan, Josephine isn’t sure; she doesn’t recall Ellana having so thick an accent when they were first introduced, but it is possible familiarity and the frantic pace of events at that time have dulled her memory.

A small smile banishes Ellana’s solemnity for a moment and she reaches out in return, taking the Keeper’s – as she is the only mage, that is what Josephine surmises her to be, at least – hands as she comes around the desk. “Aneth ara, Keeper.” She hesitates, then adds, “Ma nuvenin na’glihan, haharen.” The rudimentary Elven Ellana has been teaching her is enough for Josephine to grasp a few of the words – need, elder – but the rest of the meaning escapes her. Still, the Keeper seems gratified by the admission, pressing a kiss to Ellana’s forehead before taking a small step backwards and clearly indicating for the Inquisitor to resume her previous position.

Only then do the remaining four Dalish move, flanking their Keeper as she sits in the chair Ellana had placed in front of Josephine’s desk – at her direction – for just this purpose.

It is time to get down to business.

For all her experience as an Ambassador, both in the courts of Antiva and outside of her country, Josephine has never opened negotiations with a Dalish Clan before; she is at a loss how to begin, though she lets none of her uncertainty show in her expression. Ellana, thankfully, holds no such doubts. “Why have you come, Keeper?”

 _Of course_ the Dalish wouldn’t play the elaborate word games of the Orlesian courts. Long years of practicing decorum allow Josephine to keep her expression schooled into politeness, although she does permit herself the indulgence of letting her eyes close for a moment in self-exasperation.  

The elder mage’s response is just as blunt – and has Josephine reaching out one hand, hidden from the visitors’ view by her desk, to wrap around Ellana’s clenching fingers as tension fills the mage. “You have done your duty by the world. It is time for you to resume your responsibilities as my First and a woman of the Dalish, and come back to Clan Lavellan.”

Even without looking up, Josephine knows that Ellana is struggling to form a response without antagonizing the Elders. The silence stretches until the mage’s voice breaks the stillness, harsh with suppressed bitterness. “I have not been a First for five years now; surely you must have found another.”

The Keeper sidesteps the question, answering instead with her own challenge. “Are you denying what you owe the Clan?”

“ _No_.” Ellana’s voice is frustrated; Josephine squeezes the elf’s hand, feeling impotent. There is nothing she can do to help smooth the tension in the room, nothing she can do to help her love. “I recognize what the Clan has done for me, but I have not been the First since the Conclave. I owe the Clan nothing for those years.”

“But you do not deny what you owe the Clan as a woman,” the elder mage states with finality. “You do not deny what duty lies before you.”

Josephine has not liked where this discussion is headed from the moment it begun – she likes it even less now, with the emphasis the Keeper is placing on Ellana’s gender. _Now_ it is time for her to intervene. “I am sure you are wearied after your journey.” She slides into the silence seamlessly, as though they have merely hit a lull in a pleasant conversation. “Surely any further discussion may wait until the morrow?”

There is naked relief on Ellana’s face, and Josephine watches as the Dalish elders gauge that reaction with shuttered eyes before they turn to her. For a moment, she fears the implacable stares mean the Elders will reject her suggestion, but then the Keeper nods her acceptance. “On the morrow, then.”

And that is that. The five Dalish file out of her office without any further discussion, leaving Josephine and Ellana alone in the office with a growing silence.

Ellana is still stiff with tension, staring after the Elders. Josephine stands up and faces her love, but doesn’t move to touch her until Ellana sighs and drops her gaze to their clasped hands; only then does the diplomat reach out and cup Ellana’s cheek, thumb brushing soothingly across wind-roughened skin before she pulls back with a soft sigh. “Let us go rescue our daughter from Leliana, my darling. There is no telling what mischief she has planned.”

 

Ellana paces in front of the hearth of their bedroom, counting her steps – fifteen paces towards the nursery, about-face, fifteen paces back – as Josephine watches from where she sits at her desk. The elf has been restless since the meeting with the Clan elders – _her_ Clan elders, she corrects herself – ended, unable to contain the nervous energy their visit has instilled in her.

“My darling,” Josephine’s soft voice breaks through the nebulous thoughts and reactions that have consumed her attention for the last hour. “My darling, what are you thinking?”

It’s all a tangled mess in her head. She loves – loved? – her Clan, they are – _were_ – her family, the only family she had known and the only family she had thought she needed.

Until Josephine.

Until the Conclave, and the Breach, and the Inquisition, and _Josephine_. Ellana hadn’t even noticed her desire to return to the Clan waning, hadn’t noticed the disappearance of her longing for her people. Those feelings have faded into insignificance, eclipsed by the love that warms her whenever she is with Josephine, the security of knowing there is one person who will _always_ be on, and by, her side.

Now she has a new family, and she will never, _never_ , give them up.

She ceases her pacing for the moment and turns to face her beloved, fists clenching at her sides. “They have no right to demand this of me!” Her chest heaves as she works to master the anger that has suddenly sprung into being. “I am not some, some _broodmare_ , for them to call back at a whim!”

She can see the distressed realization her words cause, confirming Josephine’s fears of Keeper Deshanna’s words and purpose, before the diplomat breaks the ensuing silence, voice tentative. “‘Lana, they are your family –”

 _No_. Ellana cuts her off with a slash of her hand. “ _You_ are my family. They…” she tries to find the words that float just out of reach. “They are lin tel’vhenas. Blood, but no longer home.” She lets out a breath, anger fading just as quickly as it had appeared, and crosses the room to stand next to Josephine, suddenly needing the comfort; Josephine rises from her chair as Ellana approaches and then she is enfolded in comforting arms, her nose pressing into the crook of Josephine’s neck as she holds her love just as tightly. The last time they had stood like this flashes through her mind, and Ellana softly repeats the words she had first uttered nearly a year ago. “You are my home.”

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, Josephine stroking her hair as Ellana simply breathes in the Antivan’s scent and slowly calms, before a soft sound through the open nursery door – Arissa waking from her nap – has the elf finally pulling back from Josephine’s embrace.

Their daughter is blinking up at the halla mobile, the smaller cot they had acquired for the daytime centered underneath. The sight makes Ellana’s heart clench; before today, she hadn’t given any thought to the Clan’s reaction to Arissa – hadn’t, in fact, even drawn the slightest connection between the two, despite her intentions to teach her daughter about the Elvhen as she grew.

Will she still want to remember her people, after all this is over? Even if they renounce her as Dalish (a possibility she recognizes as far too likely), will she still be Elvhen?

A touch on her shoulder brings Ellana’s awareness back to the present and she glances up, startled. Josephine is standing in front of her – when had she moved? – with Arissa braced in the curve of one arm and concern furrowing her brow. “‘Lana?” She doesn’t want to answer the unspoken query, doesn’t want to give voice to the concerns plaguing her thoughts, but Josephine – always so adept at understanding the unsaid – seems to understand regardless. “It can do no harm for them to meet Arissa, my darling.”

She isn’t certain of that; the Elders have always been tolerant of shemlen, and would likely accept the babe’s presence if she were introduced as only Josephine’s, but…she fears their reactions – not for her own sake, but for Josephine’s and Arissa’s, for all that she is too young to understand yet – when she claims Arissa as her daughter. And should they learn of Ellana’s plans to carry a child of the Montilyet line…the anger of the Elvhen runs deep when it comes to those of mixed-blood – or those who would willingly choose to do so.

Josephine reads her hesitation, but continues her thought after a moment of silence. “At least consider it? Surely the Elders would not be so cruel as to take you from your daughter.”

 _Oh, yes they would._ Still, Ellana lets her worries be soothed for the moment and nods slowly. “As you say, ma sa’lath. We shall bring Arissa tomorrow.”

 

Josephine finds herself regretting her suggestion the next morning, as they wait for the Elders to arrive. Arissa is firmly situated on her lap, their daughter wide-eyed and alert as she looks around the room curiously – although she has one hand curled securely in her Mama’s shirt for comfort.

Night had given her thoughts time to turn to ‘what ifs’, compounded by Ellana’s apprehension of the day’s meeting. Most she can pass off as irrational – the Dalish will do no harm to Arissa, most likely won’t even care about her existence until Ellana makes her claim – but others have taken root and refuse to be shaken. She worries that Arissa will be used as emotional leverage against Ellana, though of what form, she can’t imagine. She hopes that the day will end with the Elders leaving them in peace, with Ellana still a member of Clan Lavellan, but the diplomat in her – the part that has seen far too many negotiations turn sour – fears that will not be the case.

The Ambassador is jolted out of her musings by the brush of Ellana’s hand against her elbow, bringing her attention back to the door just in time to see it open and the Lavellan Elders file into the room once more. She watches as they catalog their surroundings, wariness in their eyes – and notes their lack of surprise when their gazes alight on the infant in her arms. Josephine doesn’t doubt that they have gathered as much information as possible on her and Ellana over the past half-day – it is, after all, what she would do. Still, her arms tighten protectively around her daughter as the five Dalish take their seats once more.

Once again, the Keeper is blunt with her opening statements. “We have heard that you are tied to the Ambassador’s daughter, da’len. That the child is yours as well.” Josephine is proud of her beloved – Ellana doesn’t wince at the accusatory tone, but holds the elder woman’s gaze steadily. “Is this true?”

“Yes, it is.”

“But it is not by blood.” The elder mage narrows her eyes, pinning Ellana with her stare.

Josephine has to bite back the angry retort that threatens to escape her lips at that statement – it doesn’t matter if Arissa is blood-kin to Ellana or not, the elf _is_ her Mamae and _nothing_ will change that – as Ellana noticeably stiffens beside her. “She is my daughter. Any further distinctions are irrelevant.”

The Keeper opens her mouth as though to argue the point, but one of her companions – a man with long white hair and quite possibly her brother, given how similar the two look – places a hand on her arm and she changes tack. “Do you not long for a child of your own, da’len?”

Josephine bristles – how dare they continue to imply that Arissa is _lesser_ , when Ellana has already corrected them – and she has to look away from the visitors, lest she fully lose her temper. She is pulled from her seething thoughts by a low whimper from the vicinity of her lap, and the diplomat immediately focuses her attention on her daughter – Arissa is struggling to twist in her arms, the infant’s face is beginning to redden in distress as she reacts to the tension in the air.

She tries to keep half an ear on the conversation taking place as she soothes Arissa, lifting the babe to her shoulder and murmuring nonsense in her ear as she rubs one hand in gentle circles on Arissa’s back; two small arms loop around her neck and Arissa buries her face against Josephine’s shoulder, but she begins to calm under the diplomat’s ministrations. Still, perhaps a minute or so passes before Josephine returns her full attention to the discussion.

“– a compromise may be reached.” The Keeper’s hands are clasped tightly around her staff, but her voice reflects none of her irritation. “Return to the Clan for a year, da’len, and fulfill your duty, and we shall not protest your return to this Inquisition,” she pauses as if to add import to her next words, “so long as the child remains with the Clan.”

Josephine rises abruptly – Arissa’s distress resurging in response to the sudden movement – and glares at the woman who would _dare_ to even suggest such a thing.  “You would use her to _breed_?” Ellana moves to take Arissa and Josephine lets her, the now-sobbing babe not even protesting the transfer, as the diplomat struggles to regain her self-control.

The five Elders remain stoic in the face of her outburst. “The Dalish are slowly dying, Lady Ambassador. Without diversity among our children, we will eventually fade into non-existence. If that means we must order our women to reproduce, then so be it. Such is the duty to the Clan.”

She had never quite understood the phrase ‘white with rage’ before – red is the color of anger, is it not? – but now, feeling her body flash first hot, then cold, Josephine appreciates the allegory. “I refuse to let you exploit her in such a fashion, after all she has done for you!”

“Your opinion has no bearing upon our decision, Ambassador.”

Josephine clenches her fists at the indifference dismissal, shaking with helpless fury – they will _not_ take Ellana from her, surely there must be _something_ , _anything_ she can –

A firm voice cuts through her racing thoughts. “No, but mine does.”

 

Ellana hands Arissa back to Josephine, the Antivan’s arms automatically rising to hug their daughter, before stepping forward to stand a pace in front of her family. This has gone on long enough.

“Five years ago, I would gladly have obeyed the will of the Clan. I knew nothing of life outside the Clan, and did not care to. But then I was sent to report on the shemlen’s Conclave.” She meets each Elder’s gaze as she speaks, refusing to show deference. “I have changed too much since then to return to the Clan. Lavellan no longer holds my heart; it now belongs to Josephine and our daughter, and I will not lose them.”

“You will not have to lose them –”

She cuts off Deshanna’s protest with a scoff. “You ask me to leave my family for a year, to return to the Clan and birth a child with a man you have chosen, then to abandon the babe and return to Josephine as if no time has passed. Do you not comprehend the cruelty of what you are suggesting, Keeper?” Her mouth twists sardonically. “Unless you intend to let them accompany me?” As though they would let shemlen live amongst the Clan. Lavellan is willing to trade with humans, to meet with them, even to permit brief visits, but for humans to _reside_ with the Clan? No, that is too far for even the most tolerant of the Elders.

Predictably, Deshanna avoids the question, latching instead onto a previous issue. “And so you will go without a child of your own? You would throw away your own lineage for the prejudice of shemlen nobility?”

It is Ellana’s turn to bristle, in both Josephine’s defense and her own; she is no longer a child, to be talked down to as though unaware of the import of her actions, nor will she let Deshanna accuse Josephine of manipulating her choices. “No.” She raises her chin, refusing to be shamed. “I will carry and birthe a child of my own, but they shall not be of the Clan.” She knows she has just delivered an ultimatum to the Elders, but doesn’t find it in herself to care about the likely consequences. Between the Clan and Josephine, she knows which one will always win. Ellana reaches one hand back to wrap around Josephine’s as she delivers the final blow. “My child will also be of the Montilyet line.”

Disappointment – _disgust_ – at her decision is clear in the expressions of the five Elders as they glare at her – and, by extension, Josephine and Arissa. “You would throw away your duty to your people for the whims of the shemlen.”

“If that is how to best care for my family, then yes.”

Deshanna stands, the other four Elders rising a moment later; when she speaks, her voice is colder than Ellana has ever heard it. “Then we are done here.” The Keeper pauses, as if to give Ellana a chance to retract her words – when the mage’s only reaction is step closer to Josephine and their daughter, her expression hardens. “Ma banal las halamshir var vhen. No longer are you of Clan Lavellan. Should you rethink your decision,” the dismissal in Deshanna’s voice makes it clear how unlikely she deems that alternative, “you shall be welcomed back. But until such a time, you are Lavellan no more.” She turns her back to Ellana with a sense of finality, delivering one last parting shot as she walks away. “Dirthara-ma.”

Ellana keeps her expression blank as the door closes behind Deshanna, her unblinking gaze fixed on the rough stone wall ahead. She had expected this outcome – feared it, dreaded it, but expected it – from the moment Leliana had reported sighting the Clan approaching, but…the implacable words still drive the breath from her lungs. She has forfeited the right to be ‘Ellana Lavellan’. The name which has defined her from the moment of her birth is no longer hers to claim, and she knows the knowledge of that intangible loss should hurt – but she feels _nothing_.

The press of a small body against her chest breaches the numbness that has consumed her, and the gentle arms that wrap around her a moment later are her undoing. Hot, silent, tears flood her eyes as Josephine cradles the back of her head in one hand, letting Ellana bury her face against cool linen. Resentment courses through her body as she tightens her arms around Arissa’s sleeping form, laden with frustration at her culture’s inability to compromise, to realize there are those among the Dalish who would live other dreams – but she dismisses the emotion for the moment; there is nothing she can do and, at this moment, she would rather appreciate what she has left – the unconditional love of her daughter, and the unwavering affection and support of Josephine.

As Josephine begins to hum softly, low and soothing, Ellana lets herself finally fall apart in the arms of the one person she can trust to always, _always_ , catch her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for the Elven (some I pieced together myself, others I stole from dialogue):  
> Ma nuvenin na’glihan, haharen: Rough translation – I have needed your guidance/ I have missed your wisdom, elder  
> lin tel’vhenas: quite literally what I put in the dialogue: blood that is not home  
> Ma banal las halamshir var vhen: "You do nothing to further our people" - stole this one from the Dalish Inquisitor. Such a good line.  
> Dirthara-ma: "May you learn" (a curse) - see above
> 
> So, the last scene has been scheduled to happen almost from the beginning of this fic - it just took forever to get around to it. It also had two possible endings at the time, one angsty and one not-so-much, but I was convinced to go with the angsty one. I can't play nice with them _forever_ , alas. I do have a general outline of the 'non-angsty' if anyone ends up wishing to see it though.
> 
> Also I'm trying to come up with a new title for this story, since I'm not very enamored of the current one anymore...so expect that to change at some point.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	16. Year One: Developments (Months 8-12)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As children grow and develop, so too do the fears of the parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally sworn to myself, that I wouldn't do this...but circumstances have changed. So I am now breaking that oath, and posting what I know to be an incomplete chapter, because it has been one year and seven months. When I made that oath to myself, it was with the assumption that finishing the chapter, or at least a section, would take only a few more months at most, but I've made perhaps a few _paragraphs_ of progress in the past six months, and each of those has been a struggle.
> 
> So I am breaking that oath, in the hopes that this will spur me to finish that scene, or at least prompt my long lost muses to return for a visit. When (not if, when, damn it) I add that second scene to this chapter, I'll drop a note if it doesn't send out a publication.
> 
> In other news - unless you are dead certain that your career is going to require it: stay the _**fuck**_ away from graduate school. I can tell you first hand that it is _not worth it_. Especially not a Ph.D.

**Year One**

 “…and the Council of Heralds has convened once again to discuss the Inquisition’s presence in Orlais.” Leliana shuffles her stack of reports, searching for one in particular as Ellana and Josephine – the latter keeping one eye on Arissa as their daughter sits on the floor beside the table, playing with her stuffed dragon – look on. “Ah.” She tugs one rather creased sheet of parchment from the sheaf and hands it to Josephine. “A tally of the number of harassment incidents in Val Royeaux. They are subtle enough that we cannot retaliate, but there is a dangerous level of antagonism growing amongst the city guards.”

Josephine purses her lips as she scans the document – none of the instances have _harmed_ the Inquisition soldiers stationed in the city, but the recorded insults, slights, and physical provocations grow more overt as she reaches the bottom of the page. Whatever respect the Inquisition had commanded even a year ago is swiftly waning in the eyes of the people of Orlais and Ferelden. (The Fereldans are simply more vocal about their blatant objections to the Inquisition’s presence on their borders.)

The Ambassador sighs as she hands the list over to Ellana so the Inquisitor can read the report as well; it seems that she will be spending yet another afternoon writing letters to her diplomats stationed in each city with instructions to approach the nobility – _again_ – about the necessity of the Inquisition’s presence within the country. (Only, of course, if the noble in question seems at all receptive to such overtures. Bann Teagan is one noble on whom she will suggest they not waste their breath.) _Then_ she will begin another batch of letters, these laden with either ego-soothing platitudes or subtle reminders of a piece of reputation-damaging information, as the situation requires, to certain nobles in both Orlais and Ferelden. Her sole purpose now is to try and forestall the oncoming – and inevitable, she knows – confrontation between the Inquisition and those who would either control its power or see it disbanded.

Movement out of the corner of her eye draws Josephine from her musings, and she turns her head to see Arissa trying to pull herself upright using the edge of Ellana’s seat – something she has been attempting for the last week or so, although without notable success as of yet.

This time is no different; the eight-month-old gives up after a few missed grabs and returns her attention to her toy, scrunching the edge one wing in her fist and navigating her prize towards her open mouth. Reassured that Arissa is happily occupied for the moment, Josephine returns her attention to the other two women at the table.

She waits for a lull in their conversation – an idle discussion about the merits of using ironwood for weaponry – before asking, “Have you heard any news of the Lady Seeker?” Cassandra had left them two months ago to finally locate the remnants of her Order, the leads she had been pursuing all winter finally having borne fruit.

The brief smile that light’s Leliana’s face is encouraging. “She writes that of the remaining Seekers, many have accepted the knowledge written in the Book of Secrets. They have begun recruiting and training anew at Therinfal Redoubt.” She glances at Ellana, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “I believe you know the place, Inquisitor?”

Ellana drums her fingers on the rough wooden tabletop, frowning thoughtfully as she digests the Spymaster’s words. “I do; it’s a fitting place for the Seekers to reestablish once more. But…that’s Ferelden country.” She pauses, clearly trying to frame her concerns as her frown deepens.

Josephine notes Ellana’s uncertainty and explains. “Since the Seekers do not answer to the Inquisition and Lady Cassandra is acting as on their behalf, Ferelden has no issue with their occupation. However, should we request Lady Cassandra’s services –or even her presence – while she is actively involved with the Order, that will surely change.”

The soft clink of chainmail to her right has Josephine’s attention shifting to Leliana as the Spymaster leans forward, gaze intent. “As you know, with half your companions missing or otherwise occupied, we have had to rely heavily upon Cullen’s soldiers to mitigate many situations previously handled by smaller forces; their travel to smaller towns such as Sahrnia draws attention and only fuels rumors of the Inquisition’s supposed attempts to destabilize these countries in a preliminary bid for power.” The former bard’s lips purse. “It is only a matter of time before we are called to answer for whatever perceived aggressions the nobility decide to hold us liable of.”

“An outcome I am working to delay as long as possible,” Josephine supplies quickly as Ellana’s eyebrows draw together once more into a worried frown. The reassurance earns her a warm smile – however brief – before her love turns back to the Spymaster once more. “Would it help to have me in the field more often? If I could travel with only a handful of soldiers or scouts…”

Josephine’s attention wanders from the conversation once more – her part in determining the logistics will come _after_ Leliana and Ellana have hashed out a basic course of action – and she lets her gaze drift over the partially occupied ravens cages hanging in the center of the Rookery. ( _Why_ she never received any complaints from the library, Dorian, or Solas about loose feathers and bird droppings, she doesn’t know. Or rather, doesn’t _want_ to know. Some suspicions are better left unconfirmed.)

Her focus is just beginning to pass over the bars of the railing surrounding the interior edge of the platform – and _that_ , she notes, shows much wear and tear from the constant departures of the birds – when a flicker of movement at the corner of her left eye draws her attention idly –

And her heart _stops_.

Her daughter is no longer sitting on the floor behind Ellana’s chair; nor is she once more attempting to stand. No, Arissa _is_ standing, both hands planted against a rough wooden crate as she leans forward, and while that would normally make Josephine proud of her daughter’s newest accomplishment – Arissa is _only a meter away from the edge of the platform, and working her way closer._

She must have made a sound – when she reflects back on the moment later that evening, Josephine can’t for the life of her recall what it might be – because Leliana’s attention snaps first to the diplomat, and then just as quickly to follow her petrified stare, fixed on Arissa even as she tries to stand and reach forward at the same time, but Ellana’s chair is in her way –

And then Leliana’s arms are scooping up the baby and lifting her away from _danger (terror, falling, nonono)_ and pressing Josephine’s now-protesting daughter into her arms; all the Antivan can do is hold the squirming body tight against her as she presses her face against Arissa’s shoulder and breathe in her scent as her heart begins to beat once more.

She only looks up when the rustle of clothing heralds Ellana’s approach, Arissa’s abandoned dragon in her hand. The presentation of her plushie is enough to distract the infant from her attempts to escape her Mama’s arms – though Josephine still doesn’t loosen her grasp. The weight of her daughter in her arms is the only anchor keeping her calm right now, because if she is holding Arissa, then she _can’t_ be in danger. Still…she needs _some_ outlet for the anxiety still racing through her veins, even though she knows it’s futile, that Arissa won’t understand. “Darling, don’t…please don’t –” She can’t even find the words to express her fears – and that, more than anything, tells Josephine how unsettled she is, because words have _always_ been her instrument – and exhales a shaky breath instead.

“Josie.”

Josephine reluctantly shifts her gaze from her daughter, turning her attention to Ellana instead – and feels her anxiety transform to irritation at the small, wondering smile on Ellana’s lips as she looks down at Arissa. “Why are you smiling?” Her tone is biting as she stares up at the other woman. “Arissa was just in – in danger, and you are _smiling_?”

She draws a dark satisfaction from the way that smile fades a bit, though it quickly turns to guilt at the remorse in Ellana’s eyes. “I know, ma sa’lath, and she scared me too.” The elf reaches out one hand and cups Josephine’s face, and she can’t help but lean into the comforting – _soothing_ – caress as Ellana strokes one thumb along the ridge of her cheekbone. “But Josie, she just took her first steps.”

Somehow, _somehow_ that accomplishment had escaped her, Josephine realizes. And though she feels a surge of panic flare back up at the memory of Arissa blithely working her way towards _danger_ , she is also now calm enough to take that one step back and analyze the situation (somewhat) objectively: yes, Arissa had been moving towards the edge of the Rookery. No, she probably wasn’t in immediate danger, since the crates supporting her end a good arms-length before that edge, and there is surely no possibility that _none_ of the three women would have noticed Arissa crawling across that open space.

It takes effort, but Josephine compartmentalizes the remnants of her fears and worries, and lets a smile of her own begin to grow. “She did, didn’t she?” She shifts the now squirming infant in her arms until she can look at her daughter’s face – taking in the still-wet, wide grin with glimpses of white Arissa now sports – and presses a kiss to her forehead. “My clever girl.”

Ellana mock-frowns at her. “ _Our_ clever girl,” she corrects, and Josephine feels her smile settle into place like the missing piece of a puzzle; she can pretend – just for this moment – that all is right in her world once more. “Do you think she would do it again?”

Josephine opens her mouth to respond, but it is Leliana who answers first. “There is only one way to find out, no?”

And that is how Josephine finds herself kneeling on the floor of the Rookery without care for the state of her clothes, Ellana crouched next to her with hands outstretched towards their daughter opposite them. Arissa is held upright by Leliana, her tiny fists grasping onto the Spymaster’s fingers and supporting most of her weight as she burbles happily up at the redhead; Leliana, in turn, is bent over the infant, tendrils of faded red hair escaping from behind one ear, and Josephine can’t think of a time in recent memory that she has seen her friend so relaxed and carefree.

“Are you ready, _mon chere_?” Leliana raises and lowers her hands just enough to bounce Arissa so her feet leave the floor, earning her the infant’s full attention and a spate of giggles. “Let us show your Mamas what you can do.”

Ellana is practically bouncing on her heels beside the diplomat, arms already outstretched towards the pair only a meter away, and Josephine can’t find it within herself to chide the elf for her childish behavior. After all, she is the one who Arissa still clings to like a limpet, the one who still gets to spend those quiet minutes of bonding with her daughter multiple times a day – it is only fair that Ellana should bear the focus of this newest milestone in their daughter’s life.

So Josephine eases back just that little bit, letting Ellana’s shoulder partially conceal her from Arissa’s view as the infant focuses her dark gaze on her smiling Mamae. Then Leliana moves forward one small step and Arissa does too on instinct, her leg unsteady but a wide grin on her face as though this is the _best game ever_.

“Come, Arissa,” Ellana encourages, and the warmth and love in her voice is the balm Josephine has needed to finally relax, “garas aran.”

As Leliana takes a second step forward, then a third, Arissa mimicking her movements a moment later and giggling all the while, Josephine finds her hand inching forward until she is grasping Ellana’s where it rests on the elf’s thigh – unable to keep herself fully removed from this moment, despite what she had resolved only a minute earlier. Then her love flashes a quicksilver grin at her and that worry vanishes too, leaving warm happiness in its wake.

“Ma sumeil, da’ean!” Arissa is within arm’s reach, barely a foot away, when she apparently decides that Ellana’s words deserve a response – one little fist lets go of Leliana’s fingers and reaches forward for her Mamae, mirrored by a step on the same side, her small body overbalancing and falling forward as Leliana withdraws her other hand and then their daughter is cradled in Ellana’s arms and babbling up at her happily, clearly proud of the journey she has just undertaken.

Josephine is just as proud – they aren’t full steps, not yet, but Arissa has _walked_ to them, and her heart feels as though it might burst from her chest with happiness. She reaches out with one hand, intending to touch her daughter – a confirmation that she is there, a comfort, an instinctive gesture – but apparently Ellana has other ideas; before the diplomat’s fingers can make contact, Arissa is lifted up into the air with a happy squeal, held aloft by two strong hands at her waist as she beams down at her parents.

When Arissa was younger and Ellana would employ this same tactic, her flailing limbs were uncoordinated and jerky at best; now, she clearly reaches out for her parents as she wriggles in her Mamae’s grasp, tiny fingers spread wide as she strains, and her legs kick in concert as though emulating the stomping steps she had just been led through, giggling all the while – and how is Josephine supposed to do anything but laugh with her daughter?

The soft sound – or, more likely, the arm she slides around Ellana’s waist at the same time – has her love glancing back over her shoulder once more in surprise, Arissa automatically brought down and safely cradled against the elf’s shoulder in the same movement. The infant doesn’t protest her change in position/altitude but instead follows her Mamae’s gaze and reaches out for Josephine with an insistent grunt, one arm stretched over Ellana’s shoulder in clear indication of her desire.

Josephine meets her daughter halfway, proffering her own hand for that surprisingly strong grasp to latch onto and drag back for inspection. (The diplomat knows _that_ will last all of a moment, and then her hand will become the equivalent of a safety blanket for Arissa – hugged to her chest, chewed on, or simply kept hold of – and it will be a long while before she gets it back, but she can never bring herself to mind.) A flicker of movement just past Arissa’s right ear catches her attention, and her gaze focuses in time to see Leliana smile fondly at the three of them before slipping down the stairs of the Rookery and leaving them alone.

 _Well_. That won’t do. Josephine refuses to let her friend regulate herself to watching from the shadows this time, whether unconsciously or not; she is as much a part of Arissa’s family as Dorian or the Iron Bull.

The diplomat lets her legs slip to the side, settling more comfortably onto the floor next to Ellana as she draws reassurance – _comfort_ – from where her palms rest against the bodies of the two beings who hold her heart. _Her_ _family. Hers._ And if she considers Leliana to be a part of that family…

A smile tugs at Josephine’s lips once more as she watches Ellana nuzzle Arissa’s stomach to make their daughter shriek with delight. Against Arissa, her friend doesn’t stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen Translations:  
> Garas aran – come to me  
> Ma sumeil, da’ean – you are close/near
> 
> Thank you so so so so so much to RedTied, who is the only reason any of this got written at all, because so much of it was like pulling teeth, and even though the both of us are brain-zombies, she's still trying to help me finish the second scene! She's the real hero here <3


End file.
